


Heart and Soul

by petyrbaealish



Series: Every Heart Sings a Song [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Romance, Smut, a happy fic for when you need a pick me up during this season, no one dies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-04
Updated: 2018-09-07
Packaged: 2018-11-23 11:56:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 63
Words: 190,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11401938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/petyrbaealish/pseuds/petyrbaealish
Summary: A kind of Frasier inspired AU.Olenna Tyrell adopted both Petyr and Varys when they were young, and raised them as her own. When Olenna falls and winds up in the hospital, it becomes clear that she can no longer live on her own. Varys takes her in, and Petyr offers to pay for a live in physical therapist. Margaery Tyrell suggests her friend, Sansa Stark, for the position. When Petyr and Sansa meet, sparks fly.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Currently updated about every two weeks.
> 
> Olenna's description comes more from the books than the show, btw. Same with Varys (at least I remember his being heavier set).
> 
> Let me know what you think!

Petyr Baelish hadn’t even been back home for a day, when disaster struck. The phone call came when it was nearly midnight, a time when most others had already crawled into the warmth of their beds, but of course he was still wide awake. He wasn’t like most people, after all. He was at one of his club’s most profitable locations, taking care of important matters and important clients, and the sound of his cell ringing wasn’t surprising in the least. The caller’s identity, however, was.

“I didn’t realize you stayed up so late,” Petyr drawled to his adopted brother, tone bored and not displaying his curiosity at the unusual occurrence whatsoever.

“Not now, Petyr,” Varys said, voice sounding strained. “I’m at the hospital. It’s Olenna.”

Petyr lowered the documents he had been perusing, his attention caught. “What happened?”

“She fell. Last night. Her neighbors found her an hour ago, when they heard her yelling, and they called an ambulance.”

Petyr cursed and ran a hand over his face. “Send me the details. I’ll be there soon.”

“Will do.”

The line went dead, and Petyr quickly tidied up his desk and swung on his suit jacket, grabbing his keys and wallet on his way out the door. When he finally reached the hospital, it was almost eerie how quiet it was, the lateness of the hour and the darkened rooms and dimmed corridors adding to the strange atmosphere. As if hospitals weren’t unnerving enough in the daytime. The presence of death seemed to linger far more after hours. It was weird how hospitals were home to both births and deaths, and yet the death seemed to far eclipse the happiness of bringing new lives into the world…

Petyr found the right room with little trouble, joining his odd little family where they clustered around the older woman’s bed. Varys was there, looking exasperated, and Margaery and Loras Tyrell were hovering anxiously beside him. To his relief, Olenna was awake and seemed as spry and ornery as ever, rolling her eyes when her granddaughter Margaery insisted that she couldn’t leave, that they wanted to keep her overnight for observation, at the very least. 

Olenna Tyrell finally spotted Petyr after slapping away her grandson Loras’ hand as he tried to help her get settled back in bed. “Well, look who finally decided to show up.”

“My apologies. I did come as soon as I heard,” Petyr began, but she cut him off.

“Oh, honestly. I’m fine,” she insisted. “I told Varys not to call you and pull you away from work. But obviously he thinks he knows better. What do I know? I’m only the woman who raised him.”

“Grandmother,” Margaery soothed. “We just thought he would want to know. We care about you.”

Olenna huffed. “Is that why I spent the night, and most of the following day sprawled out on the bathroom floor?” 

Varys sighed. “I’ve offered to get you help. You keep brushing me off, insisting that you are perfectly capable of living alone.”

“You’ve offered to put me in a home you mean,” she snapped. “I’m in my sixties. I’m not decrepit.”

“No, you’re not,” Petyr replied, arching an eyebrow. “No one could say otherwise. But you cannot deny that you need help. The accident has clearly robbed you of full mobility. This is the second time you’ve fallen in a month. We might not be so lucky a third time.”

“If you can call spending hours stuck alone in the bathroom lucky,” Olenna scoffed. The older woman’s small stature and shock of grey hair (she refused to dye it, as many women her age did, stating that everyone could tell her age well enough, there wasn’t any point in hiding it. And pointing out the grey that marked his own temples, of course, just to get a dig in to remind him of his own age. Though he was still young enough that he hadn’t entirely earned it. Perhaps he was just oh so lucky in that regard.) was quite at odds with her personality, as usual. Once riled up, Olenna was always a force to be reckoned with, and woe betide anyone who got in her way. 

“They’re right, Grandmother. Please, we don’t want to lose you.” Margaery took Olenna’s hand, a gesture which wasn’t refused. Olenna had always had a soft spot for Margaery.

“You’re not putting me in a home,” Olenna said sharply.

“We wouldn’t dream of it,” Petyr promised, catching eyes with Varys and jerking his head towards the door. It would be best to talk in private. Let Margaery and Loras distract her for a bit.

Petyr went out into the hall, his adopted brother walking close behind, almost soundlessly, despite his excess girth. Varys closed the door and turned to stare at him, look calculating. “What are you thinking, then?” Petyr asked.

“We can’t put her in a home. She’ll never agree to it. You know what she’s capable of. Chances are that she’d flee the state, even the country,” Vary said, clasping his hands over his ample midsection.

“Or die just to spite us,” Petyr agreed.

Varys gave him a look. “Hardly appropriate, considering the circumstances.”

“Oh, she’s fine. It sounds like they’re only keeping her overnight for observation. It’s her hip that keeps giving out. She’s perfectly healthy in every other respect.” Petyr pulled out his phone, thinking about searching for home healthcare services.

Varys seemed to know what he was thinking, which wasn’t unusual for him. The man was annoyingly perceptive. It was strange how alike they were, despite not sharing the blood that kept most families together. “Unless we hire someone to stay with her full time, a service isn’t going to work.”

“And what would you suggest then?” Petyr asked, exasperated.

Varys ran a hand over his bald head, the pale skin reflecting the fluorescent lights. Petyr resisted the temptation to point that out. He knew where this conversation was going, and to ridicule the man would not be in his favor. “One of us has to take her in,” Varys said finally.

Petyr sighed. “I don’t suppose you want to offer?”

“I would rather not, but I will do it if I must. You do have the advantage of frequently traveling out of state. Whereas I rarely leave the city. You aren’t home enough to keep a proper eye on her condition. Besides, I am sure Olenna would prefer living with someone who isn’t out doing god knows what all hours of the night,” Varys said.

Petyr eyed Varys suspiciously. “You’re giving in quite easily. Am I missing something?”

“Perhaps I care more about our adopted mother than you. Or perhaps I’m feeling quite charitable tonight. Who can say?” Vary shrugged.

Petyr ignored the jibe. “If you are willing to take her in, I would be more than happy to pay for a home health care worker. She might do well with a physical therapist. Maybe a live in position, where they cook and clean as well.”

Margaery poked her head out the door. “There you are. Grandmother wants us to leave. She says she wants to watch TV in peace.” She paused. “And she’s tired of waiting for you two to figure out what to do with her, like she’s some insolent child.”

Petyr laughed and pulled the door open further. “No worries, Olenna. We’ve already decided.”

It didn’t take long after Olenna learned her fate before she shooed them all away, eager to watch an episode of Three’s Company that she had just found on the television. As they all walked to the carport, Margaery spoke. “I think I might know someone you could hire to help Grandmother.”

“Oh?” Petyr asked, scrolling through emails on his phone.

“My best friend, Sansa Stark. She just graduated with me from NYU. She has a degree in physical therapy, and she’s still looking for a job. She also needs a place to stay, since she’s been crashing with me and Loras ever since her last relationship went south,” Margaery said.

“Joffrey Baratheon is such a dick,” Loras grumbled, eyes locked on his phone as he checked his twitter feed. “I never understood why she agreed to go out with him, let alone live with him.”

“Stark?” Varys asked. “Not Eddard Stark’s daughter?”

Petyr frowned. He was sure he had heard the name before. But for the moment, it eluded him. As for the thought that this girl had dated, even lived with, Joffrey Baratheon, well he definitely pitied her. The boy wasn’t a monster, but he wasn’t exactly a saint either. Joffrey often frequented his clubs, and Petyr was pretty sure he never saw the boy with the same girl twice. Which meant Sansa Stark was either really open minded, or the boy was cheating on her with anything that was female and moved.

“Yup.” Margaery nodded. “She’s really sweet. I think she would be perfect. Grandmother has met her before. Several times. They get along great.”

Varys pursed his lips, thinking. “Have her give me a call if she’s interested. We’ll set up an interview once we get Olenna settled.” He turned to Petyr. “You’re still planning on paying for this, correct?”

“Of course. I will send you some salary estimates in the morning. You can negotiate with the girl when you meet her, if I am not able to make it myself.”

They stepped out into the carport, the chill night air sweeping under their clothes in the drafty space. Margaery and Loras waved goodbye, heading for their own car, and Varys disappeared soon after. Petyr pulled out his keys and made for his car, deciding just to go home instead of going back to the club and trying to get work done. The name Stark was still nagging at him and he had a feeling he would be too distracted to attempt anything else productive tonight. Eddard Stark. Father of Sansa Stark. And what else? Why did that name sound so familiar?


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa gets a new job.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic will have alternating POVs, Petyr and Sansa. 
> 
> I may occasionally add in a Varys or Olenna POV as well.

Sansa Stark jerked wide awake as the door to the apartment opened, admitting its owners. Margaery and Loras Tyrell were talking in hushed voices as they kicked off their shoes, mindful that she would likely be sleeping, and doing their best not to wake her, both such sweet, considerate friends. And she had been sleeping, though she hadn’t meant to be. Apparently she’d passed out halfway through her book, dropping the paperback to the floor and lolling on the couch in what was likely a most undignified manner.

She sat up, rubbing her eyes and letting out an audible yawn, alerting the others to her presence. Margaery smiled at her and wandered over, dropping unceremoniously on the couch beside her. Loras flopped onto the overstuffed armchair, looking sleepy, his mass of blonde curls disheveled, no doubt from the wind howling outside. A storm was quickly approaching, the beginnings of rain spattering against the window panes.

“How is she?” Sansa asked, running a hand through her hair to remove any tangles born from her nap on the couch. She didn’t need to specify who. They all knew she was talking about Olenna Tyrell, Loras and Margaery’s grandmother.

“She seems well enough. They’re just keeping her overnight for observation. I think she’s more pissed that she has to stay there than about the fact that she spent so long alone without help,” Margaery said, holding back a yawn.

“I dunno, she was pretty pissed about that too. Bet poor Varys will get an earful when she moves in,” Loras mumbled, slumping down in his chair. It wasn’t surprising that he was nearly dead on his feet. Loras was training hard, the baseball season already in full swing.

“Wait, Olenna is moving in with Varys?” Sansa asked, incredulous. She had never met Varys, but she knew Olenna a bit. And from what she could tell, the relationship between Olenna and her son, Varys, was a bit strained.

“Yeah, he and Petyr decided it was best,” Loras said, rising from his chair and stumbling towards his room. “I can’t take it anymore. I gotta get to sleep. You tell her, okay Marge?”

“Tell me what?” Sansa asked, turning back to Margaery, who was fiddling with her phone.

Margaery suddenly flashed her a wide grin. “I may have found you a job!” she said, sounding equal parts excited and smug.

“Oh?” Sansa was intrigued. She wasn’t sure what that had to do with Olenna and Varys, or when Margaery had found the time to find her a job, but she wasn’t about to complain. After a month of crashing at her friend’s apartment and feeling sorry for herself over Joffrey’s philandering behavior, the prospect of a job was welcome news.

“Mhmm. You like my grandmother, right Sans?” Margaery asked coyly.

“Yes…” Sansa suddenly thought she knew where this was heading. “I thought Olenna was going to move in with Varys.”

“She is. And my other uncle offered to pay for a live in physical therapist for her. I figured the job would be perfect for you,” Margaery settled back on the couch, looking thoroughly pleased with herself.

“Live in? As in, I would move in with Olenna and Varys?” Sansa considered the possibility. She knew very little about Varys, other than the fact that he had his own radio show detailing the gossip of New York City’s elite, and was somewhat eccentric. And Olenna was nice enough, but she wasn’t likely to be an easy patient, that’s for sure. But to be employed by friends (in a way anyway. The family of friends at least.) and to have a job _and_ a place to stay in one go? It sounded way too good to be true.

“Yup. You’d need to do a proper interview, but I’d bet you’d get it. Olenna likes you. And Varys will want to get it all settled quickly.” Margaery fiddled with her phone for a bit and then looked up at her expectantly.

Sansa’s phone dinged from the table, and she picked it up, noticing a text from Margaery listing a phone number she didn’t know.

“Varys’ number,” Margaery clarified. “If you’re interested. Just give him a call.”

Sansa worried at her lip, debating the pros and cons. “I might do it,” she finally said. “Thank you for putting in a good word for me.”

“Of course,” Margaery replied, getting up. “Now I had better get to bed. Taking care of the kids will be murder if I don’t get enough sleep.”

“Night,” Sansa called out, getting up to retrieve the blankets and pillow that turned the couch into her bed for the night.

It seemed things were finally looking up for her. When she had graduated from NYU with honors, a degree in physical therapy under her belt, and a fiance to boot, she had felt so incredibly happy. Little did she know that it would all come crashing down, and so fast. Sansa had always had suspicions that Joffrey wasn’t entirely faithful, but any doubts she had to the contrary were quickly dashed away when she came back early from visiting her family. Joffrey had been passed out in _their_ bed, in _their_ apartment, two rather buxom looking blondes twined around him.

They’d just gotten out of school two weeks ago. And when Sansa’s entire family came up to see her graduate, she had flown back with them to spend a little quality time. She’d planned on staying longer than two weeks, but her family quickly settled back into their usual routine, and she’d found herself bored and alone more often than not. Which was saying something, considering her family was quite large: three brothers, one sister, and her cousin Jon, who had lived with them ever since his mother passed away in childbirth, his father too distraught to care for a newborn. At any rate, she’d returned home a bit earlier than planned, not informing Joffrey in hopes of surprising him. And that had turned out sooo well, obviously.

The apartment was technically Joffrey’s, since she’d never bothered to add her name to the lease, so there she was, fresh out of college, no job, no fiance, and no place to live. Thank the gods for Margaery and her brother. Sansa was so grateful that fate had made Margaery and her roommates in their first year at NYU. She and Margaery had clicked almost instantly, and, as Loras was always very close with his sister, she soon had another friend as well. When Sansa found herself with almost no hope, the Tyrell siblings had offered to take her in, and she’d been sleeping on their couch ever since.

Summer was now halfway over, and Sansa was the first to admit that she had exactly been proactive about changing her situation. She loved living with Margaery and Loras. They had helped her immensely as she tried to heal from the breakup, watching goofy movies with her and bingeing on junk food and alcohol. And though it had only been a month, Sansa found her spirits rising again. She wasn’t sure if that would continue to be true if she left the comforts of having her friends close by.

So, rather than looking for a job, or another place to stay, or entertaining the idea of returning home, she just kept procrastinating. Sansa was searching, that much was true, and going on interviews, but she really wasn’t putting her best foot forward, if she was being completely honest with herself. She’d been too scared. But perhaps this new job opportunity would be just what she needed to get back on her feet. It was safer than the others. She’d be working for Margaery’s family, living with them, so really, it wouldn’t be all that different from her current situation. Just, she’d be making money now.

No, this would be good. She knew it. A new job, a new place to stay, a new life. Fate had brought this to her, and she’d embrace the gifts it had given her. A smile curving her lips, Sansa finally drifted off to sleep, mind set on giving Margaery’s Uncle Varys a call first thing in the morning.

\-------------------------

The call was made, the interview set, and two weeks later, Sansa found herself knocking on the door to Varys’ apartment. She was dressed smartly in a sensible knee-length black skirt and a blue silk blouse that brought out the color of her eyes, a file with her resume and references tucked under her arm. The building was quite intimidating, the interior upscale and screaming of expense, its residents all eyeing her with expressions that told her they were judging everything about her, from her clothes to the way she walked. Her nerves were jangling uncomfortably as she stood there, waiting for someone to answer it, wishing she could just go back to Margaery’s and burrow under the blankets on the couch, hiding from the world.

When the door opened, she had to fight to hide her surprise. Olenna grinned up at her, leaning on a cane. “Well, I’ll be damned. They told me they were interviewing someone, but it seems they left out the fact that you’d be the applicant. Nice to see you again, girl. I do hope you dropped that blonde prick you were seeing.”

Sansa laughed, her nerves forgotten. “Actually, I did.”

Olenna brightened, ushering her inside. “Good! I never liked him, you know. He wasn’t good enough for you.” Olenna walked over to the couch and sat, patting the seat beside her. “Come, sit. My son seems to have forgotten his manners, keeping you waiting like this, and making an old woman answer the door for him.”

Sansa sat down, glancing around the apartment, which was a strange hodgepodge of furniture and art, modern and classic pieces intermingling. “How are you doing?” she asked, offering the older woman a smile.

“I’m alive,” Olenna commented, raising her eyebrows at Sansa. “Other than that, I could be better. I haven’t lived with Varys since he was a boy. I’m afraid the tables have turned a bit. Now I live under his rules. It’s quite dreadful, really. He’s a bit of fussbudget.”

“As if you’re a perfect housemate,” Varys said, gliding into the room. His attire was quite flamboyant, if truth be told, oddly clashing with his bald head and smooth chin. “You purposefully disregard my rules just to spite me, don’t deny it.”

“Who’s denying it?” Olenna asked, shrugging. “I have to do something to pass the time. It just so happens aggravating you gives me pleasure.”

Varys sighed and walked over to them, holding his hand out to Sansa. “Sansa Stark, I presume?”

Sansa rose and shook his hand. “Yes.” She gestured around the apartment. “You have a lovely home.”

Olenna snorted. “She’s just being kind. What she really meant to say was ugly.”

Sansa laughed in spite of herself. “I did not,” she lightly scolded the older woman. “Don’t confuse my words with your own.”

Olenna grinned wickedly at her before looking meaningfully at Varys. “Hire her,” she said. “There’s no need to go through with all of the formalities. She’s smart, we get along great, and she’ll probably flatter you in misguided politeness. I won’t accept anyone else.”

Varys threw up his hands. “Fine. She’s hired if she wants it. But at least let us talk salaries before you coerce her into accepting.”

“Whatever she wants, give it to her. Petyr’s got the money to spare,” Olenna said.

Varys shook his head. “No, we’re going to do this right.” He walked over to the kitchen table, picking up a file. “Sansa, why don’t you join me over here. We can go through your contract, negotiate salary, time off, and such.”

Two hours later, and everything was set. Sansa was officially Olenna Tyrell’s live in physical therapist. In addition to her regular duties, she would also keep the apartment clean, do the laundry, cooking, and grocery shopping. Her salary was more than palatable, especially when you took into account the fact that she’d be living there as well. She had her own room, with an attached bathroom and walk in closet, more than enough space to comfortably live, and free reign of the kitchen and living room. Varys seemed nice enough, and Olenna was clearly thrilled that she’d be moving in.

“You’ll be a lovely buffer between the two of us,” the older woman said, winking slyly at her. “I only hope we don’t drive that pretty little head of yours mad.”

“Not possible,” Sansa assured her, smiling at her across the table.

“You say that now, but just you wait,” Varys warned her. “It’s been two weeks and already I’m thinking of checking out an extended stay psychiatric unit.” Olenna glared at him, and he amended. “For me.”

“You needed one before I moved in,” Olenna retorted.

“Thank you, mother.” Varys got up from the table. “We should let you go. Enjoy your freedom before you make purgatory your home.”

Sansa laughed, and said her goodbyes, heart feeling lighter than it had in a long time. She waited for the elevator, passing by a man with dark hair and grey temples on her way inside. He turned to look at her as the doors closed, a strange look on his face, and when their eyes met, she felt a spark. Before she could register what had happened, the doors were shut, and the elevator began its descent. A song was playing through the speakers, an old one she’d always loved to hum as a child. Heart and Soul.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this fic may be updated about once a week, I think. It's fun to write when I reach difficult parts in my other fics. (Speaking of which, show my other fics some love? Particularly The Wolf Who Lived, which is very dear to me :) )
> 
> What did you think?


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Petyr learns more about Sansa. They meet again, and there's a 'spark.'

At first, Petyr had thought he’d stepped back into time. The red-haired beauty he’d passed on his way out of the elevator had looked so strikingly like Cat. But as he turned to get a better look, watching as she stood there, waiting for the elevator doors to close, he knew that wasn’t the case. Never mind that sense told him that this wasn’t Cat (he hadn’t fallen back into the past, obviously, and the girl was far too young to be the woman he had once been in love with) his heart assured him far more of the difference. 

No, this wasn’t Catelyn Tully. The girl looked to be in her early twenties, and, though he hadn’t thought it to be possible, was even more beautiful than he remembered Cat being. He stared at her until the doors finally closed, unable to help himself, the only sounds filling his ears the beating of his heart, and a song, piped through the speakers in the elevator.

When the doors closed, and the elevator began its descent, the song was no longer audible, though it continued on in his mind nevertheless. Petyr knew that song well. Before his mother had passed, she’d sung that song to him. Every night. And he’d taken much comfort in hearing the familiar tune as he grew older, clinging to it when he lost his father soon after, and spent a year in an orphanage, friendless and alone. Even after Olenna had taken him in, he’d never forgotten that song, drawing strength from it when life failed him. His mother once told him that she’d heard the song when she met his father, all those years ago. And that he’d hear it too, when he met the one. Heart and Soul.

Petyr had never really believed that, but then he was always prone to cynicism. But he couldn’t deny having heard it today. He couldn’t deny that there was something about that girl in the elevator that drew him in. And he couldn’t deny that he was still standing out in the hallway, staring at the elevator doors like some lovestruck fool.

Shaking his head in an attempt to clear it, he strode over to Varys’ front door and knocked. The door was quickly pulled open, revealing Varys. “Did you forget something, dear?” Varys asked, the words dying on his lips when he saw it was Petyr. “Oh, it’s you.”

Petyr raised his eyebrows. “Dear? Who were you expecting it to be?”

Varys gave him a look. “You’re late. She’s already left. We took care of everything without you.” As he spoke, he turned and walked away, leaving the door ajar as he strode to his liquor cabinet and poured himself a glass of sherry.

Petyr stepped inside and closed the door, surveying the apartment with interest. “Are you sure Olenna moved in? It looks nearly the same as the last time I was here.”

“I’m sure,” Varys said drily, taking a sip of sherry.

“And where are you hiding her? In storage?” Petyr drifted over to Varys’ liquor collection and helped himself to a glass of whiskey.

“She’s in her room. Once Sansa left, she told me that she’d had enough of me for one day, and shut herself inside.”

Petyr chuckled. “I don’t blame her. I wouldn’t want to live with you either. So the girl worked out then? You hired her?”

“Yes, no thanks to you,” Varys shot him an irritated look. “She just left, not too long ago.”

“My flight got in late,” Petyr said, shrugging and sipping at his whiskey, pausing when the rest of what Varys had said sunk in. “Wait, she just left?”

“Clearly your graying hair isn’t the only sign you’re getting old, dear brother. Perhaps a hearing test is in order. Yes, she just left.”

Petyr ignored the jibe. “What did she look like?”

“Red hair. Quite pretty, I suppose. Very sweet,” Varys studied him, look calculating. “Why?”

“I think I met her. We passed each other at the elevator,” Petyr replied loftily, careful not to reveal how his heart was suddenly stuttering at this new revelation. The girl had been Sansa Stark. And she’d be working for his family. Living with his family. He’d see her often, whenever he paid Varys or Olenna a visit. The thought was quite thrilling.

“She looks like her mother, don’t you think?” Varys said casually, strolling over to his couch and taking a seat.

Petyr nearly spat out the swallow of whiskey he’d just drunk. “What?”

“Like Catelyn Stark. Her mother. Of course, she was a Tully when we were kids.” Varys stared up at him, looking smug.

Of course. Cat had married Eddard Stark. He’d blocked out the name so long ago, blocked out everything to do with the Tullys after failing to woo Cat and his disastrous three month long marriage to Lysa. Lysa still hounded him whenever she had the chance, in truth, ignoring the restraining order he’d set against her. The woman was incessant when it came to him. But even she had drifted to the back of his mind, out of focus, when her husband, Jon Arryn, had moved her and their son across the country, tired of dealing with the legal fallout of her refusal to abide by the terms of the restraining order. Petyr hadn’t given any of the Tullys a second thought in years, hadn’t had reason to. 

And now, now fate (or coincidence, or the gods, or whatever), the cruel bitch that it was, was toying with him, it seemed. Sansa Stark, daughter of Catelyn Tully. Heart and Soul filling his ears the first time he’d laid eyes on her. Cruel didn’t even begin to describe it. 

Petyr realized he’d been lost in his own thoughts, his brother watching him with a knowing look on his face. He downed the contents of his glass and set it down. “She does, a bit,” he said. “Since you’ve already taken care of everything, I’ll just take the contracts and go, then. Give Olenna my best.”

Varys rose and retrieved the contracts for him, features still unbearably smug. Petyr restrained himself from rising to the bait and left, feeling bitter. Perhaps he wouldn’t be visiting Varys and Olenna much, after all.

\----------------------------

Petyr had tried to stay away. He really had. But somehow, he just couldn’t stop himself. The curiosity was eating away at him. Or maybe it was self sabotage. It was almost as if his idiotic heart wanted to be broken again. To be tormented and dashed against the pavement. His heart, apparently, was quite the masochist. Petyr tried in vain to let his brain dictate his actions, to live by cold, clear logic, rather than by instinct and love and feelings, as he had done for years. But that damn muscle seemed stronger than the nerve and tissue inside his head. 

And so, not long after Sansa Stark had moved in with Varys and Olenna, Petyr found himself stopping by, unannounced, not a plan in his head concerning an excuse for his visit. It was four in the afternoon, and Varys was gone, busy with his radio show, spreading the hottest gossip to the masses of New York City. He’d planned that, at least. To visit when Varys wouldn’t be present. Hopefully he’d be gone before Varys returned. He’d suffer the consequences of his visit later, preferably without Sansa Stark around to hear Varys teasing him in that maddening, subtle way he had.

Of course, Olenna would be there, but that couldn’t be helped. Petyr couldn’t very well visit the apartment with no one around but Sansa. He had only gotten a glimpse of the girl, after all. Not nearly enough interaction to warrant visiting solely to meet her. At least, according to everyone else, anyway. If it was revealed that he was going out of his way to seek out the Stark girl, eyebrows would be raised, questions would be asked. Questions he wasn’t willing to answer, or dodge, avoid, what have you.

Petyr didn’t delude himself into thinking that he could avoid those questions forever. In fact, he suspected Olenna would find him out almost immediately. And Varys already suspected something, judging by his words the night he’d hired Sansa. But if he could delay them, he’d damn well try. He was confused enough without his family harassing him.

It was probably all for nothing anyway. This overthinking about a girl he’d barely met. Petyr knew that. And in part, that was why he’d finally made the decision to spend a bit more time in the girl’s company. All he had of Sansa Stark was a few seconds, his only knowledge of her the way she looked, what she was wearing that day. Nothing more. For all he knew, she was utterly intolerable. Her voice nasally. Her personality vapid. Her intelligence entirely lacking. 

Never mind that her image was burned into his brain, had been since that day. His heart wasn’t solely won by beauty. He needed wits. Substance. And for a woman as striking as she was, she’d certainly be incredibly blessed if her mind was anything of value. It wasn’t impossible that he would like her beyond her looks, but it wasn’t likely either.

This was what Petyr told himself as he knocked on the door to Varys’ apartment. That this visit was only in hopes of destroying the attachment he had already unintentionally formed for her. But when Sansa Stark answered the door, looking flushed, her hair in disarray, dressed in ratty jean shorts and an old t-shirt, a dark smudge on her cheek, he was lost.

“Oh!” she said. “It’s you.” Petyr just stared at her, and she quickly elaborated. “From the elevator? The other day?”

“Oh, yes. Now I remember you,” he replied finally (a bit lamely if he was being honest with himself), mentally yelling at himself to get a grip. “So you’re the one Varys hired to take care of Olenna.”

Sansa smiled. “Yes. Do you know her well?”

“I would hope so,” Olenna called, walking into the room with far more agility than he would have expected, for someone that needed a cane, and taking a seat on the couch. “Considering he’s my son.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Sansa said, clearly flustered. “I didn’t realize.” She opened the door, gesturing for him to come in.

“It’s alright,” Petyr assured her, stepping inside “How are you doing?” he asked Olenna, watching Sansa shift nervously from foot to foot, still uncertain about her role as household staff. She was barefoot, her toes painted a pale pink, a silver anklet circling her right ankle.

“As can be expected,” Olenna replied. “Varys is a bit of a pill, but it’s more manageable now that Sansa has moved in. She’s keeping me sane.”

“Oh?” Petyr asked, looking at Sansa curiously.

Sansa blushed, looking at the floor, though her lips had curved into a smile. “I haven’t done anything, really. I’m still getting settled.”

“You’re here, and you’re not Varys. That’s more than enough,” Olenna said bluntly. She shot Petyr a look, then continued. “Since he’s apparently forgotten his manners, I will take care of introductions, shall I? Sansa, this is Petyr Baelish, my son. Petyr, this is Sansa Stark. Considering you’re paying her salary, and she’s charged with caring for your dear mother, you ought to get to know the girl a bit.”

Petyr smiled at Sansa and held out his hand. ”Pleasure to meet you, Sansa Stark.”

Sansa smiled back and took his hand, recoiling slightly when a spark of static zinged between them. “Oh!”

“Sorry,” he apologized, raising her hand and dropping a kiss on the back. “Sometimes a spark comes when you least expect it.”

“Indeed,” she murmured, lowering her eyes shyly. 

“Now, you, don’t make the girl uncomfortable,” Olenna chastised him. “Come, sit next to your poor mother.”

Petyr obliged, and Sansa continued to hover by the door for a moment before Olenna told her to sit down as well. She really did seem incredibly sweet. And even in worn clothes she was truly something to behold. “Is Varys in?” Petyr asked, knowing full well he wasn’t.

“No, but you already knew that,” Olenna replied, not fooled for a moment.

Petyr laughed. “You caught me. I didn’t want to visit and listen to the two of you bickering, so I waited until I knew he was working.”

“Clearly,” Olenna said, looking at him suspiciously.

“So, other than getting on each others’ nerves, the arrangement’s working out well?” Petyr inquired, hoping to throw her off the scent.

“Yes. I haven’t been spending any nights on the bathroom floor as of late.”

“A marked improvement then,” Petyr commented, unable to contain his smirk.

“Sansa is quite the godsend as well. She’s only been here for a few days but already the tension is lessening. She makes a wonderful buffer. Quite the cook, too,” Olenna said, rewarding Sansa with a rare smile of approval.

Sansa laughed. “I’ve made you eggs and grilled cheese so far. Hardly anything remarkable.”

Olenna shrugged. “If you can’t make the staples, then you certainly can’t make anything beyond that. Many a person has failed to make even the simplest of meals in the kitchen. Varys is one of them.”

“How does he manage then,” Sansa asked curiously. “Frozen meals? Take out?”

“He dines out quite frequently. Before you moved in the most he ever made here was toast. And he burned it.”

Petyr chuckled, remembering when Varys was younger and briefly had dreams of becoming a world renown chef. Those dreams had quickly been dashed, after a disastrous attempt to cook Olenna breakfast for Mother’s Day. He’d nearly burned down their home, in addition to the pancake breakfast.

Sansa cocked her head to the side, regarding him thoughtfully. “And you? Do you cook?”

“I can cook,” he replied smoothly.

Sansa turned her gaze towards Olenna, clearly not sure whether to trust him yet, even with such a mundane topic. Smart girl. “Oh, yes. I’d take credit for his skill in the kitchen, but I never encouraged him there, nor did he inherit anything from me,” Olenna confirmed for her.

“I find that hard to believe,” Sansa said. “Margaery told me you’re a wonderful cook.”

“Oh, I am, but if Petyr inherited the talent, it was from his birth parents,” Olenna elaborated.

Sansa’s eyes flashed in recognition. “Oh! I’m sorry, I suppose I just assumed…” she trailed off, not sure how to continue.

“Quite alright,” Olenna assured her. “Neither Varys nor Petyr are my natural born children. I did have another son, Margaery’s father, but I lost him a few years ago. In the same car crash that took her mother, and my husband, God rest their souls.”

Sansa’s expression had sobered upon hearing this. “I’m truly sorry,” she said, her voice genuine as she reached over to take Olenna’s hand, giving it a squeeze.

“It’s alright, child. They are at peace now.” Olenna did not refuse the affection, something that was rare for her. His mother could be quite prickly at times, and usually only Margaery could show any tenderness towards her. But then, Margaery had always been her favorite.

Petyr watched their interaction, absorbing everything he had learned so far of Sansa Stark, and quickly realized he was fighting a losing battle. That treacherous song had drifted back into his consciousness, and it seemed every time he looked at her the melody would start again. She wasn’t insufferable in the slightest. In fact, she was quite lovely. In looks, in manner, in mind. And with every beat of his heart, he was more and more sure that he’d begun his descent into madness. For what was love, if it wasn’t madness?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, a bit of PxS interaction!
> 
> Hope you liked it :). Can't wait to see what you think! Getting feedback on my stories is the best part of my day. Love you all <3


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa and Petyr talk/flirt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, I know a lot of you feel a bit disheartened by the new episode (I'm not, because I think there was more than meets the eye with how Sansa was treating him), so I thought you could do with a bit of fluff.

Sansa hadn’t been expecting to meet anyone new today. She was still getting settled in Varys’ apartment, unpacking her belongings and making the space available to her feel like home. Neither Varys nor Olenna had mentioned inviting anyone over, so she’d dressed a lot more casually than normal, expecting to get all sweaty and dusty as she went through all of the boxes she’d hauled over from the storage center where she’d been keeping most of her stuff since she’d left Joffrey. She was a bit overheated and dirty when she’d heard a knock on the door as she made her way to the kitchen for a drink of water, but she’d figured it was just UPS or something, and didn’t give her appearance a second thought.

However, when she’d answered the door, she was suddenly all too aware of her ratty clothes and sweat sheened skin. It was the man she had seen by the elevator the day she’d been hired. Sansa hadn’t gotten a proper look at him that day, even as he’d caught her gaze, but she noted, with more than a little embarrassment, that he was quite attractive. Cryptic grey-green eyes, dark hair, trimmed goatee and mustache, a hint of stubble, and those grey streaks at his temples that somehow made him even better looking than he would have been without them.

Sansa had learned that the man was Olenna’s adopted son, that his name was Petyr Baelish, and that he could cook, though beyond that he was still entirely a mystery to her. He seemed nice enough, polite, as apt to banter as his adopted brother Varys, and Olenna, and he hadn’t made any indication that he was unhappy with her current state of attire, even though he was apparently her boss, in part. In fact, Sansa was certain that his eyes kept flicking over to her, even when he seemed fully engaged in conversation with his mother.

She shifted nervously in her chair, unsure whether she should stay in the room, or if she was free to leave and continue unpacking, or, at the very least, get cleaned up. The back of her hand still tingled where Mr. Baelish had kissed it earlier, and she could still feel the spark that had zinged between them when their hands met. Sansa wanted to leave, to run away from the torrent of emotions that were currently running through her, and yet she didn’t. Another part of her desperately wanted to stay, to learn more about Mr. Baelish, to study him whenever he didn’t happen to be glancing her way.

Her musings were soon interrupted by the man himself, his gaze intent on her. “And how do you like living here so far?” Mr. Baelish asked.

“It’s very nice,” she said earnestly, meeting his gaze to show she really meant it. “Olenna and Varys have been kind enough to let me finish unpacking before I have to attend to all of the duties outlined in my contract.”

“And Varys isn’t driving you insane yet?”

Sansa laughed. “No. I haven’t seen much of Varys, actually. But I’ve only been here a few days.”

“Just you wait,” Olenna promised. “He’ll get on your nerves. He’s a bit of a snoop, and very finicky about the cleanliness of his apartment. If things aren’t exactly the way he wants them, you’ll hear about it.” She rolled her eyes then turned to look at Mr. Baelish. “I’d beg this one to take me in instead, but we wouldn’t fare much better at his place.”

“Oh?” Sansa asked, turning to him, curious. “Why not?”

Olenna answered for her son. “He keeps odd hours, this one. Always off flying around the country, tending to those clubs of his. And when he’s not doing that, he’s at the office, or tending to his most profitable location, catering to the insatiable whims of New York City’s supposed finest. I’m not sure if he even sleeps.”

Mr. Baelish chuckled, a low raspy sound that made Sansa’s pulse stutter. “I do. Just not much.”

“And besides that,” Olenna continued, “I don’t trust that he doesn’t bring his business home with him. At least with Varys, I know I won’t have to deal with any overnight guests.”

“I don’t employ prostitutes, Olenna,” Mr. Baelish said, rolling his eyes.

“Strippers, prostitutes, I hardly see the difference,” Olenna said, waving her hand dismissively.

“Quite a big difference, actually,” Mr. Baelish commented. “And regardless of what my employees do or don’t do in my clubs, I’ve never had the slightest urge to partake in what I sell.”

Olenna shook her head. “Even if that were the case, you’re not celibate, and I’d rather not be around when you’re entertaining.”

“I suppose you’ve got me there,” Mr. Baelish mused, his eyes flicking back over to Sansa as he spoke. “Varys won’t be troubling you in that regard.”

Sansa was dying to ask just why Varys wouldn’t be bringing home any dates, but she felt it wouldn’t be polite to pry. Varys seemed nearly as big of a mystery as Mr. Baelish. All she had gleaned so far of him, was that his tastes were rather eclectic, that he was a clean freak, that he had a radio gossip show, and that he was referred to only as Varys, like Cher, or Adele. She noticed Mr. Baelish smirking at her from his seat on the couch, and flushed, suspecting he knew that she was dying of curiosity at the moment, only held back by ingrained politeness.

She was right. “Varys doesn’t date,” Mr. Baelish supplied, still smirking wickedly at her.

Sansa took the bait, in spite of her better judgement. “Why?” she asked.

“He’s not interested in romance,” Olenna said. “He never has been. I took him to a psychiatrist once, concerned for his welfare, but she assured me that nothing was wrong with him. She said he was…” Olenna trailed off, searching for the right word.

“Asexual,” Mr. Baelish finished for her.

“Right. So he won’t be giving me any grandchildren in the foreseeable future. No matter. Margaery and Loras are enough. And this one still has time,” Olenna gestured over at Mr. Baelish. “Some anyway. And as long as Varys is happy, it makes no difference to me.”

Sansa smiled. One of the things she liked best about Olenna Tyrell was that she wasn’t prone to the same prejudices that many held onto in her generation. Loras was openly gay, and Olenna hadn’t batted an eye when she found out. And Varys apparently was an even greater minority, and Olenna still loved and supported him regardless. It was so refreshing to see that, especially with how troubled the world had become as of late, regarding social issues.

“Speaking of which, any prospects I should know about? You’re not getting any younger you know,” Olenna said, fixing her son with a stern gaze.

“I know. You only remind me every chance you get,” Mr. Baelish replied. “And no, not currently.”  
His eyes darted again over to Sansa as he said this, and she fought to keep from smiling. So what if he was single? It was nothing to her.

Her traitorous heart said differently. But she ignored how it skittered, and stood, deciding she’d better leave the room before her emotions betrayed her. “I think I will go wash up for dinner. I feel pretty grimy at the moment.”

“Go on ahead,” Olenna said. “Petyr will keep me company until you get back.”

Mr. Baelish, who had looked briefly disappointed when Sansa rose to leave, nodded. “I suppose I can stay for a bit longer.”

“I’ll be back,” Sansa promised, avoiding his eyes as she turned to leave.

She returned to her room and closed the door behind her, locking it, just in case. Living with so many siblings left her wary to leave the door unlocked when she was changing or bathing, even if the chances weren’t likely that she’d be interrupted. Sansa stripped and threw her clothes into the laundry hamper, and jumped into the shower. The steam helped clear her head a bit as she washed, soaping the sweat and grime from her skin and hair.

Ever since she had first seen Mr. Baelish (though she hadn’t known his name until today), she’d been almost haunted by that moment. The details she’d managed to take in for those few, brief seconds, the way he’d looked at her so strangely, as if he couldn’t believe his eyes. Sansa hadn’t expected to ever see him again, but he seemed burned into her psyche, popping up at random moments, a few strains of Heart and Soul always in accompaniment. And now that he’d appeared again, and turned out to be her boss, of all things, she was a bit unnerved.

And definitely more than a little confused. The effect he’d had on her before was nothing compared to what it was now. Now, she knew his name. Now, she had a few details to fill in the mystery. Both physical and otherwise. Sansa wondered what his club was called. It was clearly a very successful business, if he had locations all over the country.

Though Olenna was clearly bothered that her son employed strippers, Sansa found she didn’t mind it. This surprised her, quite a bit, actually, but she wasn’t sure what to do with that information just yet. Not that it mattered. Mr. Baelish was hardly a romantic prospect. He was definitely over ten years older than her, the threshold she’d always kept in her mind when considering anyone. And he was her boss. One of her bosses, at least. And he probably wasn’t interested anyway. Nor was she, come to think of it. Even if he was rather good looking. And successful. And quite intelligent, besides.

Half hoping Mr. Baelish would be gone when she had finished getting ready, and half hoping she wouldn’t miss him, Sansa toweled off and got dressed. She kept alternating between hastening her movements and slowing them to a snail’s pace as she dried her hair and put on a touch of makeup, scolding herself under her breath for being so silly. Finally ready, she examined her reflection in the mirror, worrying that her outfit revealed that she was trying too hard. She’d chosen a cute pale blue skirt of floaty, almost ethereal material, and a stretchy black tank top embroidered with blue and white tropical flowers. Perfect to keep cool in the warmer weather, though it wouldn’t matter much if she didn’t leave the apartment, seeing as Varys had the air conditioning on. But was a skirt really necessary…?

Sansa sighed and just decided to stop agonizing about it. No one would notice anyway. She left her room, and padded back out into the living room, still barefoot. Mr. Baelish was still there, seated on the couch, scrolling through his phone, but Olenna was nowhere to be seen. He glanced up as he heard her footsteps, and she faltered, suddenly uncertain now that Olenna wasn’t in the room.

“You look nice,” he commented, gaze only on her briefly before he returned his attention to his phone.

Sansa blushed, fidgeting where she stood. “Thank you.”

Mr. Baelish looked up from his phone again. “Olenna will be back soon. Left and Right were pestering her, so she went to feed them.”

Sansa laughed, and went back to the chair she’d been sitting in earlier. “I still can’t believe she calls them that.”

Mr. Baelish shrugged. “It is easier than using their actual names. Naming them Erryk and Arryk was a bit of a lapse in judgement, though not on her part. Luthor named them.”

“Her husband?” Sansa asked.

“Yes. Calling them Left and Right will help you tell them apart, as well. They’re nearly identical save for those spots,” he replied.

“Varys doesn’t seem to like them much,” Sansa offered, not wanting the conversation to wane.

Mr. Baelish smirked. “No, he doesn’t. He says they stare at him all the time. I don’t think Varys fully understands that that’s just what cats tend to do.”

Sansa giggled, remembering this morning, when she’d walked into the kitchen and found Varys staring determinedly at Right, so focused on thwarting one cat that he didn’t notice that Left was eating his toast.

Mr. Baelish tucked his phone back in his pocket and leaned forward, eyes mischievous. “You’ve remembered something. Do tell.”

She shook her head, still giggling. “I shouldn’t.”

“And why not?” he asked. “They’re my family. There’s little I don’t already know.”

“Yes, but I live with Varys. It wouldn’t do to make him upset with me,” she countered, leaning forward in her chair unconsciously.

“Ah, so you were thinking of Varys?” Mr. Baelish asked, raising his eyebrows. “You know, as your boss, I do think I have a right to know, in any case,” he said, tone light.

Sansa rolled her eyes. “Hardly. This isn’t a matter of how my employers are treating me, Mr. Baelish. Save for one, I suppose, who is trying to pry embarrassing secrets about his family from me.”

His eyes lit up. “Embarrassing, you say? Now, tell me, are you intentionally revealing this information, or am I just that good at interrogation?”

“Neither,” she said, grinning at the fake affrontation crossing his features. “I’m just a really bad liar,” she confessed.

“Oh, I find that hard to believe. I think perhaps you’re just a bit nervous,” he smirked at her again.

“Well, you are my boss, Mr. Baelish,” Sansa said, playfully chiding him. Gods, she was flirting with him. Very openly. And loving it.

That smirk broadened. “No need for such formalities. Call me Petyr,” he said, eyes locking onto hers.

Sansa ducked her head, biting her lip. She was in dangerous territory here. It wouldn’t do to be so familiar with the man paying her salary. But, then, she did call the others by their first names. Would it really be so bad? “Ok,” she said finally, meeting his eyes again. “Petyr.”

Petyr’s eyes darkened slightly as she said his name, his smirk still firmly in place. “Sansa,” he said, lips forming her name in a verbal caress.

She stared back at him, and couldn’t deny the thrum that had started in her veins just from hearing him say her name. Her own eyes had darkened, just like his had, of that she was certain. Before either of them could speak though, the moment was broken, as Olenna returned.

“Feeling better?” Olenna asked, resuming her seat on the couch.

“Much,” Sansa replied.

“Good,” Olenna turned to Petyr. “You’re staying for dinner I hope?”

Petyr shifted uncomfortably beside her. “I hadn’t planned on it,” he began hesitantly. “But I could reschedule a few things. Just give me a moment.” He got up and disappeared down the hall, pulling his cell from his pocket as he walked.

Sansa watched him go, admiring the cut of his suit draped over his slim form. When she turned back to Olenna, the older woman was giving her a knowing look. “So, what did you want to do for dinner?” Sansa asked, trying to divert her attention.

“Oh, we’ll go out somewhere,” Olenna said. “I’m sure Varys will have someplace in mind. And he and Petyr will bicker about it, like they always do.”

Sansa smiled, internally congratulating herself for her success. “Sibling rivalry, huh?”

“Oh yes. They might not share any blood, but those two are more alike than you’d think.”

“Really?” Sansa asked. She couldn’t see it. In appearance, at least, Petyr and Varys were as different as night and day, dark and light.

“You’ll see, the more you get to know them. You’ll learn quite a bit about Varys, living with him. But I suspect Petyr might be dropping by fairly often, as well,” Olenna said, carefully judging her reaction.

“Of course. To visit with you. And his brother,” Sansa reasoned, knowing that Olenna had been insinuating something else entirely.

“And you,” Olenna said.

Damn. Not one to beat around the bush, that’s for sure. “We’ve only just met,” Sansa said, getting up from her chair and heading for the kitchen for a drink.

Olenna followed her. “I have eyes, you know. He’s quite taken with you. And you like him too.”

Sansa filled her glass with ice and waited patiently for the water level to rise, the tiny spout set into the fridge making it impossible to get a drink quickly. When the glass was satisfactorily full, she turned and took a sip, weighing her responses. “Maybe,” she said finally, settling for the truth. In a way. She liked him. But no one but Petyr himself knew if he actually liked her.

Olenna regarded her thoughtfully. “Just be careful, my girl. Petyr has more than a few ghosts in his past. And lurking behind that pleasant exterior is a man who, at his core, is irrevocably fucked up.”

“Thank you, mother,” Petyr said cheerfully, wandering into the kitchen.

Sansa choked on her water. Olenna thumped her on the back. “Easy does it,” she said. “That water doesn’t have bones in it, you know.”

“You never know,” Petyr said helpfully. “It says it’s filtered, but who can really tell.”

“Honestly,” Olenna said, rolling her eyes at Sansa. “See what I mean? I’ve raised a prick.”

Sansa set down the glass, still thirsty but deciding it was better not to drink around them. “Not a prick,” she mused. “More of a smartass, in my opinion.”

Olenna’s eyes sparkled. “Oh, I do love you.” She turned and smacked Petyr on the arm, who was smirking at them both. “You stay away from her. I’ll not have you corrupting my girl. She’s had enough hurt what with that Baratheon boy.”

Petyr held up his hands in defense. “ _She_ called _me_ a smartass, not the other way around. You might defend your son.”

“Not when he deserves it,” Olenna called over her shoulder as she left the kitchen.

Sansa laughed. Something she’d done quite a lot today, she realized. And smiling. She’d done that too. Strange.

“So, you never did tell me,” Petyr said, swiping her water glass and taking a sip.

She frowned at him, then went to the cupboard to grab another one, holding it to the ice machine to fill it. “What?”

“Varys,” he prompted.

“Oh, right,” she said, tapping her foot at she waited for the glass to fill with water.

Petyr leaned against the counter. “Come on, I know you want to tell me. I see it in your eyes.”

“A misinterpretation on your part then,” Sansa said, raising the glass to her lips. She really was parched.

“No, I don’t think so,” he said, taking the glass from her when she’d finished and setting it on the island.

“Fine,” she said, and told him, his genuine laughter her reward, despite the slight guilt she felt. When he’d stopped laughing, she spoke again. “You’re not using it against him. If I get thrown out on my butt because of you, homeless and jobless, I’ll find a way to get even.”

Petyr chuckled again. “No need. If ever such a thing were to happen, I’d happily take you in.”

“As if I would ever accept if you were the reason for it,” she scoffed, secretly thrilled.

“Varys wouldn’t toss you out for such a little thing, sweetling. He’s not _that_ bad.”

“Sweetling?” Sansa asked, smirking at him. “Bit inappropriate, don’t you think?”

“Is it?” he mused, smirking back at her.

Sansa was suddenly aware of how close they were standing, and quickly took a few steps backward. “Yes,” she said, giving him a stern look. “Mr. Baelish.”

With that, she turned and left the kitchen, knowing that if she stayed, she’d likely do something that she’d regret.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eager to hear your thoughts, as always! <3


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa goes out to dinner with Petyr, Varys, and Olenna.

Petyr had really meant to leave before Varys returned home. But the longer he had remained in Sansa’s presence, the harder it was to adhere to that goal. And, before he knew it, he was agreeing to stay for dinner.

Olenna had already sussed him out. His adopted mother was nothing if not incredibly perceptive. She had noticed that Petyr couldn’t seem to keep his eyes off of Sansa. And they both had noticed that Sansa couldn’t keep her eyes off of him. Of course, Olenna and Petyr had reacted quite differently to this, Olenna with concern and protectiveness in Sansa’s case, and sabotage in Petyr’s case. And Petyr had used his charms on Sansa, with varying success.

When Sansa had left the kitchen, after reverting back to calling him ‘Mr. Baelish,” he had followed her out with the intent of drawing his first name from her lips again, only to discover that Varys had just walked through the door, and he would have to be careful. For Olenna to know was one thing, but for his adopted brother to know was quite another.

Varys didn’t look as surprised by Petyr’s presence in his home as Petyr would have liked. “Dear Sansa,” he said. “You seem to have let in a stray. Need I remind you that I barely tolerate Left and Right, let alone the vermin they’re supposed to keep out?”

Olenna smacked Varys as he passed her, heading straight for the sherry, which was his traditional after work.drink. “Enough,” she said. “I’m hungry, and I’d like to take my kids and Sansa out for a bite to eat.”

Varys took a healthy swig of sherry. “Oh? Where were you thinking?”

“I’m sure you already have somewhere in mind,” Olenna said. “You can pick the place tonight, and Petyr can next time. I’ll have no bickering tonight.”

Petyr chuckled. “It will be a quiet meal then.”

Olenna gave him a stern look. “Less bickering, then,” she amended, before turning to Sansa. “Are you ready, dear?”

“Just let me pop back to my room for some shoes,” Sansa said, darting away on nimble feet, her shiny red waves bouncing. 

Petyr couldn’t help but stare for a moment, before he felt Varys’ eyes on him and turned away. “So, where are we going?”

Varys finished his sherry and disappeared in the kitchen to deposit the used glass in the sink before coming back out again. “French,” he said vaguely.

Petyr rolled his eyes, but didn’t say anything as Sansa returned, slightly taller in heeled, strappy sandals. They all made their way to the building’s carport, piling into Varys’ car. Olenna sat up front with Varys, because though she didn’t need the extra room, being so small, she had seniority. Petyr didn’t mind, since that meant he shared the backseat with Sansa, who sat very primly next to him, avoiding his gaze and looking quite shy again. He suspected she was still a bit uncomfortable around Varys. That or she was regretting flirting with him earlier.

They drove to Varys’ favorite French restaurant, securing a table easily due to Varys’ celebrity (and the fact that Varys often promoted them on his radio show), despite the fact that it was packed with people. Petyr wound up sitting next to Sansa at the table, across from his mother and brother, though he suspected that wasn’t entirely by chance. Olenna might have warned Sansa against his character, but she also wanted more grandchildren. And she was always a fan of stirring the pot, so to speak.

When Sansa lifted the menu, her eyes widened slightly and she flushed, lowering it again. Petyr noticed and leaned closer, speaking under his breath. “You don’t speak French?”

She shook her head. “I took a bit in school, but…” she trailed off, biting her lip.

Petyr tried not to stare. “It’s ok. Here.” He opened the menu for her. “What would you like tonight? Chicken? Beef? Fish?”

“Um, chicken?” She looked a bit upset still. Clearly she hadn’t expected to go somewhere so upscale. She’d have to get used to that, living with Varys. And being in frequent company with himself, of course.

Petyr went through the menu and pointed out all of the dishes featuring chicken, translating them for her. When she’d decided, he had little time to peruse the menu for his own choice before the waiter arrived to take their orders. Sansa didn’t pronounce her meal, simply pointing to what she wanted, looking flustered. Having taken French, she should have been able to say her selection with little trouble, but Petyr suspected that she was feeling more than a little self conscious.

The waiter left, and Petyr focused on not paying too much attention to Sansa, aware that Varys was watching them with a keen eye. “How was your show today?” he asked, breaking the awkward silence that had settled over them.

“Fine, I suppose. Quite average, really, but I don’t suppose you’ve ever caught one of my shows before?” Varys said.

“No, I haven’t. I usually know everything you drone on about on them already anyway,” Petyr replied, shrugging.

Varys looked at him with contempt. “Ah, yes. You learn quite a bit from those clubs of yours. Customers do tend to get loose lips when intoxicated with drink or illegal substances, or aroused. Or, more often than not, all three.”

“And your way of gathering information is so innocent. At least my intel comes straight from the source. Yours comes from disgruntled employees looking for a spot of revenge. Or other anonymous sources,” Petyr said, taking a sip of water.

“You’re both deplorable,” Olenna announced, giving them both a sharp look. “Can we talk of something else? My therapy is going along quite nicely, not that anyone asked.”

Petyr turned to Sansa, grateful for an excuse to talk to her. “Oh, you’ve already started working with her?”

Sansa nodded. “Just a bit. I’ve shown her some exercises, and mapped out a treatment plan for her. Once I’m fully settled, we’ll do more.”

“She’s wonderful,” Olenna assured them. “I have no doubt I’ll be moving out of Varys’ in no time.”

Varys rolled his eyes. “You’d think it was torture to live under my roof.”

“You said it, not me,” Olenna said, sipping her wine.

Sansa bit her lip. “It will take a lot longer than you think, before that will happen, I’m afraid. From what I can tell, your hip has only gotten worse in the years since your accident. There are many factors that might have caused this, but…” she trailed off, not meeting Olenna’s eyes.

“Go on, you can say it,” Olenna said, tone gentle even as she cut to the heart of the matter. “It’s my own fault. If I had only taken the advice of my doctors, done the prescribed exercises, I might not be in this mess, right?”

Sansa nodded reluctantly. “But the important thing is that we’ve started now,” she said. “It’s not too late.”

Their food came before long, and they ate quietly for a time. Petyr wasn’t anxious to argue with Varys, inciting scolding from Olenna, not with Sansa nearby anyway. And Sansa seemed a bit uncomfortable, sitting with three people she barely knew, in a restaurant that made her feel inadequate. As for Olenna and Varys, they apparently were quite tired of each other's’ company, and didn’t feel like making an effort to fill the silence. 

Finally, Petyr decided that even if showing interest in Sansa might give Varys cause to bother him later, staying silent wasn’t worth suffering through the awkwardness, and he spoke up. “So, I hear you’re good friends with my niece?”

“Yes, and Loras too. We met at NYU. Margaery and I were assigned to the same dorm room,” Sansa replied, smiling at him over her wineglass.

“And you studied physical therapy there?” Petyr asked, knowing the answer already.

Sansa nodded. “I had thought about maybe going to medical school, becoming a doctor. But I decided in the end that I didn’t want to suffer through that much extra schooling. Not to mention, the bills from four years at NYU are already insane.”

“No help from your parents then?” Petyr didn’t really want to bring the conversation in that direction, but it was the natural question to ask. Varys was giving him a smug look from across the table, but he ignored him.

“Some,” Sansa said. “They offered to pay for half. I’m sure they would have taken care of all it if they didn’t have Arya, Bran, and Rickon still to worry about.”

Petyr raised his eyebrows. “Four kids?”

“Five,” she corrected. “I have an older brother, Robb, as well. But he’s already out of school, working with my Dad. His school bills are already taken care of.”

Varys spoke up, not so subtly changing the conversation. “You know, Petyr and I used to know your mother, back when we were kids.”

Sansa looked surprised. “Oh? No, I didn’t know that.”

“Oh yes, the Tullys lived just down the street from us,” Olenna chipped in. “In Long Island.”

Petyr knew exactly where this was heading, and he cursed himself for attempting to make conversation. He hadn’t expected Varys to do this so soon.

“So you knew my mother well then? And my aunt and uncle?” Sansa asked, looking at Petyr curiously.

Petyr swallowed a sip of wine. “Quite well,” he said shortly, still hoping to dodge this conversation.

“That’s an understatement,” Varys said dryly. “I never spent much time with them, but Petyr was very close to them. The girls, in particular.”

Sansa furrowed her brow. “Mom has never mentioned you before,” she said slowly.

“No, she wouldn’t have,” Petyr agreed, sighing. “We didn’t exactly part on good terms.”

Varys snorted. “Putting it mildly.”

Olenna shot Varys a sharp look. “Enough,” she said severely. She turned to Sansa. “It’s a bit of a mess, really, their history. But it would be better to let Petyr tell you himself, sometime. Rather than hearing it second hand from someone who is just trying to make trouble,” Olenna finished, shooting Varys another scathing look.

Sansa gave Petyr a small smile, which he tried to return. “Ok,” she said.

Petyr didn’t eat much after that, the food suddenly turning to ash in his mouth. Sometimes he really detested Varys…. The ride back to Varys’ apartment was even more uncomfortable than the rest of their meal, and Petyr decided not to stay, bidding them goodnight and heading for his car rather than back to the apartment. He wasn’t sure, but he thought he saw disappointment in Sansa’s eyes when he said goodbye, but perhaps she only had hopes of prying his connections with her mother from him.

He went home, flicking on the lights in his apartment and surveying the room in distaste. It was a fine apartment, in all respects, but he really wasn’t home enough to make the space into a proper home. Everything was spotless, pristine and perfectly in place, just as he liked it, but he hadn’t had the time to add any touches to what the decorator had done (following his instructions of course. Everything in the apartment suited him to a T, and anything he hadn’t liked had long ago been removed). There weren’t any photographs hung on the walls, or personalized mementos, nor was there anything on display that showed anyone lived there permanently. Everything of that nature was safely tucked away, hidden from view, just like Petyr himself.

The only room that truly looked as though someone lived there, was his home office. Which wasn’t surprising, considering he’d spent more time there than anywhere else. Petyr worked more than he slept, when he was at home, or anywhere, really. It would catch up with him someday, his lack of a proper night’s rest reflecting badly on his health. Perhaps that was the reason for his prematurely graying hair, which had come in before he’d even turned thirty.

It was still early, only nine o’clock, but Petyr didn’t feel much like working tonight. A first time for everything, he supposed. Instead, he sat down on his rarely used leather couch and switched on the tv, flicking aimlessly through the channels. He hadn’t kept up with any television shows beyond news programs for years, but he could do with some mindless entertainment. After awhile, he found reruns of Mash, and decided that he probably wouldn’t find anything better, lowering the remote and trying to lose himself in Hawkeye’s latest hijinks.

His attention wasn’t caught however, and he found himself replaying today over in his mind, remembering his conversations with Sansa, and mentally cursing Varys for ruining what up until then had been a very enjoyable evening. Petyr hoped that Olenna would chew him out more thoroughly later. Normally he enjoyed their rivalry, but he considered Varys’ manipulations tonight a low blow. They were family, after all. Some things were supposed to be off limits. He’d long ago stopped taunting Varys about certain peculiarities, partly because he got tired of Olenna smacking him, and he thought Varys could do him the same courtesy by not rubbing salt in the wounds of his past with the Tyrell girls. If Varys persisted, Petyr would have no qualms about tormenting his brother of his alternative lifestyle (even if Petyr personally didn’t think such matters were anything to tease about, it was easy ammunition when Varys became insufferable, so he couldn’t resist when he felt his brother deserved it), even if it brought Olenna’s wrath.

The show continued, forgotten, in the background as his mind turned back to Sansa, and when his cell phone vibrated in his pocket, he was more than a little startled. Sighing, Petyr pulled out his phone, guessing that work or the club had paged him with some problem or other. At least it would prove a distraction from that disastrous dinner. But to his surprise, the text message was from an unknown number. He frowned and unlocked his phone, opening the text.

‘Hey, I hope I’m not bothering you. Olenna assured me that you’d be awake, but if you’re busy, I understand. I just wanted to say that I’m sorry for earlier. I could tell that whatever Varys was alluding to was making you uncomfortable, and, well, I just thought you should know that there’s absolutely no pressure for you to tell me. Whatever happened, it’s in the past. Oh, also, Olenna gave Varys quite the talking to after you left. I could hear their argument from my room. It was, well, a bit scary, honestly, but also kind of amusing. Your mother really doesn’t hold back, does she? Anyway, I hope you have a good night! ~Sansa’

Petyr stared at the message, sitting up straighter as he pondered her words. Almost without meaning to, he started texting back. ‘That’s very kind of you, sweetling. But you have nothing to apologize for. My brother takes all the blame for ruining a perfectly pleasant evening.’

He sent the text before he really had time to think it over, and added Sansa to his contacts. It wasn’t long before his phone vibrated with her reply.

Sansa: I still feel bad though.

Petyr: Don’t. It’s fine, really. Has the shouting stopped? I wouldn’t want them to keep you up on my account.

Sansa: Yes. Varys stormed out in a huff about half an hour ago. I went out to check on Olenna, and we had a talk. She seemed to know I was worried, and she gave me your number. Said she’d check on you herself, but you’d only pretend nothing was wrong.

Petyr laughed at that, then laughed again when Sansa sent another text.

Sansa: Of course, you’re doing the same with me, but I guess she thought it was worth a shot.

Petyr: I’m not pretending. It was a long time ago. I’ve had plenty of time to heal.

Sansa: If you say so. I mean, I guess you didn’t look all that affected, but considering your family’s reaction….

Petyr: So you’re saying I’ve perfected my poker face.

Sansa: Basically.

Sansa: But I don’t want to pry, really.

Petyr: Thinking about asking your mother about it though, aren’t you? 

Petyr: I wouldn’t blame you. I’d be curious too.

Sansa: We barely know each other. I just, I don’t want to make you tell me anything you don’t want to. You don’t owe me anything. And I work for you.

Petyr: You’re deflecting.

Sansa: :P

Sansa: Yes, ok. I debated about calling her. Happy?

Petyr: Yes

Petyr: No

Sansa: :P. Which is it?

Petyr: Both.

Petyr: Am I listed in your phone as Petyr? Or Mr. Baelish?

Sansa: Petyr Baelish

Sansa: But I could change it to Mr. Baelish

Petyr: I see how it is

Sansa: Only trying to maintain our professional relationship, Mr. Baelish

Petyr: Says the girl that texted me two smileys

Sansa: Smileys help convey tone in text. They’re necessary

Petyr: Uh huh. That’s why all businessmen use smileys in their emails

Sansa: They do

Petyr: And you would know, huh?

Sansa: I’ll bet you use them all the time. 

Sansa: What do you do, anyway? 

Sansa: Varys said you own clubs?

Petyr: Yes. I’m also the CFO at Lion and Stag Enterprises.

He waited for her to acknowledge the fact that he worked with her ex-fiance and his family, but she didn’t. Not right away anyway.

Sansa: Which takes you out of state so often?

Petyr: The Mockingbird

Petyr: My club. I have locations scattered around the U.S.

Sansa: I’ve been there. To the one here, in New York. 

Sansa: It’s nice. 

Petyr: Not really your kind of place, though, am I right?

Sansa: No. My ex-fiance was a frequent patron there though

Petyr: Yes, he was

Sansa: Right, you would know him, wouldn’t you? 

Sansa: Joffrey, I mean. You work for his dad. And actually, Joffrey works there too, now. Though I think it’s more just a title than anything. He probably doesn’t do anything to really earn his paycheck

Petyr: Correct

Petyr: How long ago did you two end things?

Sansa: Over a month ago. He cheated on me, but I’m guessing you already knew that.

Petyr: He wasn’t exactly discrete. 

Sansa: I was blinded by the fairy tale, I guess. He looked just like the prince I’d always wanted. It was easy to overlook his flaws, to pretend that maybe I was just imagining things. 

Sansa: That is, until I walked in on him with two women. Couldn’t explain away that one.

Petyr: I’m sorry.

Sansa: Don’t be. I’m better off. Fairy tales aren’t real life. I should be old enough to know better.

Petyr: Life never matches up to our expectations. Those stories and songs we grow up listening to, only give us false hope. Life is not a song. Be grateful that you learned that now, before those fantasies did too much damage.

Sansa: Speaking from experience, I see

Petyr: Possibly

Sansa: I hope Varys’ words won’t deter you from visiting again. Olenna likes having you around. 

Petyr: She does, huh? I might make a point of stopping in more. We’ll see.

Sansa: She’d appreciate it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'd originally planned to post this Sunday, but I decided I'd do it today instead, and then post another fluffy feel good chapter on Monday, to soothe our poor shipper hearts.
> 
> Hope you like it! A bit of not so subtle promotion here, but if you like this story, please check out my others, and let me know what you think. They aren't as lighthearted as this one, but I love them just the same, particularly my main project, The Wolf Who Lived (give my Harry Potter/Game of Thrones baby some love wink wink, nudge nudge).
> 
> Thanks so much for reading, and being wonderful and amazing and making this writer so very happy <3


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Petyr and Sansa talk on the phone. He tells her about his past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trigger warning: allusions to non-consensual sex

Sansa told Petyr goodnight earlier than she would have liked, deciding she’d already spent way too much time flirting with her boss, and ending the conversation before it got out of hand. She was still burning with curiosity over his past with her mother, but she felt it would be improper to beg him for answers. Not that it wasn’t already pushing it to flirt with him, but of course, she hadn’t meant to do that. It had just happened. Completely out of her control. Her fingers had just seemed to type of their own accord, paying no mind to the warning bells in her head.

But yeah, despite how desperate she was to know, she refused to ask him. Petyr would tell her eventually. Or she’d break down and ask her mother. Or maybe not. Sansa wasn’t sure what had happened in the past, but it seemed her mother and Petyr hadn’t parted on good terms. Sansa hadn’t yet told her parents the specifics of her new job, and now she wondered if she should. What if her mother insisted that she quit? Would the secret be bad enough to warrant that? Or would Sansa want to quit, once she found out?

The agony of not knowing was killing her, but she got ready for bed, and climbed in between the cool sheets, determined to stop thinking about it and go to sleep. Her phone taunted her from the nightstand, and she glared at it, before turning and groaning into her pillow, the cushion muffling her distress. Losing her resolve, Sansa snatched it from the nightstand, and unlocked it, thinking she’d just scroll through their messages again. She swiped the screen until she reached the top, recoiling in horror when her thumb swiped a little overzealously, brushing the call button.

Before she could think up how to react, Petyr answered. “I thought you were going to bed?”

Sansa pushed her face into her pillow, cheeks hot. “Sorry,” she mumbled.

“What?”

She turned her mouth away from the pillow. “I accidentally hit the call button.”

Petyr laughed, and she found herself smiling in spite of her intense embarrassment. He really had a nice laugh. “And what were you doing on the phone when you were supposed to be sleeping?”

“I couldn’t sleep,” she confessed. “I thought maybe I’d read or something, but when I unlocked my phone I accidentally called you.”

“Hmm, sounds a bit suspect. But I suppose I’ll let it slide,” he teased.

Sansa pressed the speaker button and set the phone next to her pillow. “Why are you still up?”

“I’m used to late hours.” Petyr paused. “Is your insomnia possibly to do with a need for answers?”

He was annoyingly perceptive. “Maybe,” she said.

“Quite convenient that you called me then, huh?”

Sansa smiled, glad he couldn’t see her face as she blushed again. “Purely coincidence, I assure you.”

“Do you really want to know tonight?” he asked, not sounding bothered in the slightest.

“Yes. No.” she groaned. “I don’t know.” She pondered it for a moment. “Is it that bad?”

“It’s not a particularly pleasant story, but worse things have happened. I suppose.” Petyr sounded thoughtful.

“If you’re up for it,” she said slowly.

The line was quiet for a moment, before he spoke again. “Your mother was about four years older than me, and Lysa two years, but we met quite young, and the age difference didn’t matter so much at the time. Had we met only a few years later we might not have become friends. Teenagers don’t generally have any desire to entertain younger kids. Varys was always a bit of a loner, but I enjoyed spending time with the Tully children, though I was closer to Cat and Lysa than Edmure. Edmure always ran off somewhere with Mace, Margaery’s father.”

“How old were you when you met?” Sansa asked.

“I was eight. Cat was already twelve, but she was kind, and she and Lysa were still quite close at the time, so it made sense that we often found ourselves together. As we grew older, my feelings grew beyond friendship where Cat was concerned, but she never saw me as anything more than a friend, or even a younger brother.” Petyr paused, waiting for her to absorb what he had said.

Sansa’s heart felt more than a little deflated at this revelation, but she was determined to hear the story through to its conclusion. “That must have been difficult,” she managed.

“Things were complicated further when you throw Lysa into the equation,” he continued. “Whereas I only had eyes for Cat, the same could be said for Lysa about me. When Cat went away for college, and came back for the summer after graduation with her new fiance in tow, I was devastated. I drank so much at their engagement party that I blacked out, and when I came to the next morning, I was in bed with Lysa.”

Her throat grew tight. “Oh,” she said, voice strained.

Petyr hesitated. “I don’t remember that night. Not much anyway. But what I do recall….” He trailed off, then spoke the next words in a rush. “I thought she was Cat, at first. And then when I realized, I tried to push her away, but I was too drunk to put up much of a fight.”

Sansa was horrified. “You mean… Lysa, she…?” She found she couldn’t continue, couldnt’ say the words.

“It gets worse,” he said heavily. “Two months later, Lysa came to me, face shining with pride, and informed me that she was pregnant. Still reeling from everything that had happened, I got drunk again, and wound up in fight with your father, who’d just learned that Lysa was pregnant with my child. Ned confronted me, and I lashed out in a rage. We caused a lot of damage in the bar, knocking over tables, smashing beer bottles, and somehow or other I was cut, a jagged slash bisecting my chest that nearly killed me.”

She was shaking now, her lip trembling, tears springing to her eyes. This was worse than she could have imagined. “My father did that?” she asked.

“He claimed it was an accident, and Cat, who was there, trying to stop us, backed him up. I’m not entirely certain which was the case. It’s little more than a blur to me. I spent awhile in the hospital, feeling as though I really had died, and when Lysa came to visit me often, I didn’t say a word to her, but I didn’t send her away either. She asked me to marry her, and I agreed, not knowing what else to do. I already felt hopeless, but there was a child, and perhaps I hoped that the baby might bring me back from the edge. When I was well enough to leave the hospital, we got married. But I was miserable, and Lysa, who had already been a bit wild and unstable, grew unhappy when I didn’t show any signs of returning her affections. She turned to drugs, and miscarried three months later. Not seeing any reason to stay with her after that, I divorced her,” Petyr finished.

The tears flowed now, streaming down her cheeks. “Gods, Petyr,” she whispered. “I cannot imagine how horrible that must have been.”

He sighed. “In truth, after I divorced Lysa, I did my best to block everything out. I never saw your mother again, though Lysa has pestered me off and on over the years, to the point where I got a restraining order against her. Of course, your aunt didn’t exactly stick to the terms, so I was most grateful when Jon Arryn decided to move his family across the country.”

Sansa was quiet for a few seconds, before venturing to ask the question that was bothering her most. “Did my mother know? What Lysa did?”

Petyr was silent for so long that she checked to make sure the call was still connected. “I don’t know,” he said finally. “I haven’t seen her since the night of the fight.”

“Did you tell anyone? The police? Olenna?” She had to know. Surely he hadn’t kept this secret to himself all of these years. What her aunt had done, was just unthinkable. And Lysa had gotten away with it, apparently.

“My family knows. That’s, in part, why Olenna was so furious with Varys tonight.” He didn’t sound too upset, but she sensed he was exceptional at hiding his true feelings.

Sansa was suddenly angry. “I can’t believe he did that. I have half a mind to chew him out myself.”

Petyr chuckled. “Don’t worry about it, sweetling. I think Varys made a rare error in judgement tonight. He meant to needle me about my former crush on your mother, nothing more. It wasn’t with as bad intent as you think.”

“Still,” she said. “I hope he’ll apologize.”

“He will. My brother and I might get on each other’s nerves a lot, but we don’t hate each other.” He was silent for a moment, before continuing. “I would be happy to stay on the phone longer, but I’d prefer we’d switch topics, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course,” Sansa said, wiping her eyes, and snuggling further into her pillow.

“Are you in bed?” he asked curiously.

“Yes. Why?”

“I heard rustling. I assumed it was your sheets,” Petyr commented.

“Good guess.” She pulled the phone a bit closer, smiling down at it. “Are you in bed?”

“No. On the couch.”

“Doing what?” She wondered if he was still dressed and everything, even though it was after midnight. Had he at least loosened his tie? Or was he lounging about, only wearing boxers and an undershirt. The thought made her blush.

“The tv’s on, but I’m not really paying attention to it. Right now it’s on mute,” Petyr replied.

“Anything good on?” She was curious what he watched. Somehow she didn’t think he had the time or inclination to regularly watch tv.

“Well, it was Mash, but Golden Girls is on now.”

Sansa couldn’t help it. She laughed. “Ooh, what are Blanche, Dorothy, Sophia, and Rose up to?”

“Haven’t the faintest clue. I’ve been too busy talking to you. But I imagine cheesecake was involved at some point,” he said wryly.

Sansa laughed again. “Only a true fan would know that,” she teased. “So who’s your favorite?”

“Dorothy,” Petyr said automatically. “Followed closely by Sophia.”

“Me too,” she said. “I wouldn’t have pegged you for a fan.”

“My mother was. Olenna as well, actually. I grew up watching it.”

“Olenna’s a bit like Sophia, isn’t she,” Sansa mused.

He laughed at that, and it sounded so genuine that she grinned down at the phone. “Oh, for sure.”

“I suppose that would make you Dorothy then?” she teased. “Sarcastic smart ass fits you both pretty well.”

“Probably,” he agreed, chuckling again. “Mace would have been a good Rose. He was good natured and naive to a fault. That would make Varys, Blanche, but I’m not sure that works.”

“Hmm, maybe you’re the Blanche? Are you a ladies man?” Sansa asked, not sure what the answer might be. He was good looking, to be sure, but he didn’t seem the type to sleep around.

“‘Fraid not. Though not for the lack of interest. I’ve been too busy for romance, as of late,” Petyr replied.

“Interest on your part or?” As soon as the words left her mouth she buried her face in her pillow again. Why had she asked that? What was it to her if he had romantic prospects? Or if he was interested in dating. He was her boss, damnit. And he had a complicated past with her mother besides. And her aunt. And even if he acted like it no longer bothered him, you couldn’t go through _that_ much trauma and come out unscathed. Not to mention, he was twice her age. And her boss. She felt she needed to remind herself of that twice.

“Both, I suppose.” His tone was casual, but she thought she heard his breath hitch, just for a moment.

She moved her mouth away from the pillow so she could speak audibly. “I should probably steer clear of romance myself. After that disaster with Joffrey I’m not eager to test the waters again any time soon.” Damage control time. She needed to stop seeming so interested in him. But she didn’t want to completely dissuade him, if he even was interested. Blaming Joffrey seemed as good of an excuse as any.

“Probably a wise move,” Petyr said carefully. “Though I hope you won’t let one bad experience keep you from finding happiness.”

‘Like you’ve apparently done?’ Sansa wanted to ask. But she didn’t. She sensed it was true, though. It wouldn’t surprise her in the slightest to hear that he hadn’t dated anyone seriously since his marriage, or even at all. “I won’t,” she assured him. “I just need some time. And anyway, I’ve enough going on in my life right now, what with moving and starting a new job, without adding dating into the mix. Once I’m settled I might consider it.”

He was quiet for a moment, and she heard rustling through the phone. When it stopped, he spoke. “Sorry, decided I’d get a bit more comfortable.”

“What did you do?” she couldn’t help asking, suddenly imagining him undressing.

“Took off my shoes.”

Sansa snorted, and then covered her mouth in embarrassment. “What were you still wearing your shoes for?”

“Hadn’t thought to take them off before. But I was tired of sitting up, and I wasn’t about to put my shoes on the couch,” Petyr said.

“No shoes allowed on the couch huh? Boy, you’re strict,” she teased.

“Hey, I wouldn’t want to ruin the leather. Though honestly, I hadn’t realized the couch would be so uncomfortable, laying down across the seat.”

“You could always get in bed,” she suggested.

“True,” he mused.

Sansa heard rustling sounds again and fought back a yawn. When the noise stopped, she asked, “Better?”

“Much. Except… Here, wait a second. Just put you on speaker. I don’t want to wrinkle my suit,” Petyr said, sounding a bit further away.

She blushed. So he was changing now? What she wouldn’t give for the camera on his phone to suddenly turn on, capturing the view. She wanted to scold herself for that thought, but she was enjoying the idea too much. “We couldn’t have that,” she murmured softly.

“What?”

“Nothing. I, uh, just yawned,” Sansa said quickly. Seriously, she needed to get a grip.

“Funny, your yawns sure sound like words,” he commented, and she swore she could hear the smirk in his voice.

“Maybe you’re hearing things.”

“Hmm, maybe,” he sounded skeptical, and she was sure he knew what she had said. “I guess it is pretty late.”

“Yes,” she agreed. She ought to hang up. Get some sleep. But she really didn’t want to.

“If you want to go to sleep, don’t let me stop you, sweetling,” Petyr said gently.

“I guess I should,” Sansa said, trying to keep the reluctance from her voice.

“Sweet dreams then,” he said.

“Goodnight.” She stared at the phone, willing herself to end the call, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. Minutes passed and still she didn’t reach for her phone, the screen still bright, the time of the call still steadily counting upwards. Either he didn’t want to end the call either, or he’d assumed she’d done it and simply pushed his phone to the side and gone to sleep. Either way, the call never ended.

Sansa stared at the phone until she finally drifted off to sleep, her dreams filled with Petyr’s voice, the melody of Heart and Soul the sweetest accompaniment. When she woke up the next morning, the call was still going.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked it! If you have the time, let me know in the comments and I'll love you forever <3
> 
> If you want, you can follow me on tumblr @petyrbaealish. I follow back as @phoenixfaelicis, my harry potter blog.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Petyr visits 'Olenna' again, and gets mixed signals from Sansa.

When Petyr woke up the next morning, rising early, as usual, his phone was nearly dead, and the call was still connected. He could hear Sansa on the other end, just barely, her breathing soft and steady. Suppressing a grin, he quickly plugged it in, leaving the call still running, and got ready for work. Sooner or later one of them would finally end it, but he was planning on sticking it out as long as he could. Even if it meant staying close to a charging dock.

He knew they weren’t likely to talk again. That more than likely, once she woke up she’d end it. But he wanted to see what she’d do when she noticed that they’d technically just spent the night together. Had she meant to leave the call connected? Or had she assumed he’d hung up? He thought the first option was more likely. Sansa hadn’t started breathing deeply for at least a half an hour after they’d said goodnight. He’d been listening, half wondering if she’d speak again.

Petyr showered, shaved, and dressed with care, sliding his mockingbird tie pin into place as a final touch. When he returned to his phone, it was after eight, and the call had ended only a few minutes prior. A pity, he would have liked to have been there when she’d woken up and noticed it. He wondered if she’d tried to talk to him, and wished he had thought to record the call while he was gone, just in case. There weren’t any texts, at least not from Sansa, but she was likely more than a little embarrassed. He thought about texting her, but decided against it. She’d know he would already be awake, that he’d left the call running on purpose. It was her move now.

Perhaps it had been stupid, and a bit offputting, leaving the call connected all night on purpose, because Petyr didn’t hear from her again. He found himself regretting not shutting off the phone when he’d first woken up. Leaving it running was probably too forward, and she had already put her defenses up, telling him she wasn’t interested in dating right now in an adorable attempt at subtlety. He hadn’t thought he’d been pushy at all, and she seemed to be flirting right along with him (not to mention she’d been the one to text him first, and the one to call him too), but she’d still felt it necessary to slip that into the conversation. Petyr suspected that she was flirting against her better judgement, and he couldn’t fault her for that. Sansa was in a difficult position, considering he was paying her salary.

Still, he wasn’t about to back off. Quite the contrary, actually. Sansa hadn’t reacted as badly as he’d thought when he’d told her of his past with Cat and Lysa. In fact, she’d been downright understanding. Which was especially surprising, considering the story didn’t exactly put her parents in the best light. Nor her aunt. But Petyr had a feeling Sansa already was well enough acquainted with Lysa to sense the truth in his words. He imagined Cat wasn’t too charitable towards her sister anytime she came up in conversation.

At any rate, the following Saturday he decided to pay Olenna another visit. Once again, Petyr stopped by when Varys was working, not wanting to get into it with his brother again. Plus, the less people around, the better. He arrived at three, and knocked, patiently waiting when he heard Sansa call out that she was coming.

She opened the door, and immediately flushed when she saw him. Gods, he hadn’t meant to embarrass the poor girl that much. “Hi,” she said, not meeting his eyes.

“Hello,” he replied warmly. “May I come in?”

“Of course,” she said, stepping back and holding the door open wider to let him past. She closed the door after him, smiling when they faced each other. The redness had dulled in her cheeks, but was still quite adorably present. “Olenna’s reading out on the terrace. We didn’t realize you’d be visiting today.”

Petyr shrugged. “I had some cancellations, and thought I’d use the opportunity to stop by. Olenna’s always on my case about not visiting enough.”

“I’m sure she’ll be happy to see you,” Sansa replied smoothly, walking over to the glass doors that led out onto the terrace and sliding them open, poking her head through to speak to Olenna. “You have a visitor.”

Olenna glanced up at her book and scowled at him. “Just when the plot was getting good,” she complained.

Petyr chuckled. “I’m sorry. I could come back later?”

Olenna shook her head. “Don’t you dare. Just let me finish this chapter. I’m sure you’ll enjoy Sansa’s company more than mine, anyway.”

Sansa blushed again at that, and slid the door closed, staring at the floor and wringing her hands. Petyr couldn’t help it, and stepped closer, tilting her chin up with his hand. “Something wrong?” he asked gently.

She stared at him, and swallowed nervously. “About that night,” she began hesitantly.

He raised his eyebrows. “What, the night we slept together?” He shouldn’t have said it, but he just couldn’t help himself. Nor the smirk that accompanied the words. Though he regretted it when she stepped back from him, turning away. “Sorry, just trying to ease the tension,” he said apologetically.

Sansa turned back to him, a small smile playing about her lips. “Did you do it on purpose?”

“Did you?”

She fidgeted. “I plead the fifth,” she said finally.

“That only works in a court of law,” Petyr said, smirking at her again. “But I think I already know the answer. And it might be the same as mine.”

Sansa met his eyes, a wicked glint in her clear blues. “So, no then?”

Petyr took a step closer to her, and even barefoot she was nearly the same height as him. Had he not been wearing shoes, they would have been evenly matched. “Is it no?”

At that moment, Olenna chose to slide the terrace door open. “You’re blocking my way in,” she said, shoving him aside with surprising force for a woman her age and size. “He’s not pestering you, is he?” she called over her shoulder as she made her way to the couch.

Sansa laughed. “A bit,” she teased.

He smirked. No longer a fawn caught in the headlights, apparently. Now she was the wolf, going in for the kill. “My apologies, Miss Stark.”

Olenna rolled her eyes at him. “You could be a bit more subtle you know.”

Back to fawn again. Apparently she was very easily embarrassed. Too cute. “I think I’ll get a drink, you want anything?” Sansa asked, scurrying towards the kitchen like a frightened mouse.

“No thanks, dear.”

Sansa didn’t wait to hear if he wanted anything. Petyr took a seat next to Olenna, and promptly got smacked. “What? I didn’t do anything. You’re the one that frightened her off,” he protested.

“I’m sure you deserved it regardless,” Olenna said. “Especially since I know you didn’t come by to visit _me_.”

Well, he couldn’t deny that. “How have you been?” he asked, changing the subject. Sansa was lingering in the kitchen a little longer than was strictly necessary, but he decided not to comment on it.

“Fine, I suppose. Incidentally, I had a talk with Varys. Reminded him that he was quite the insensitive wart, and that some subjects are best left untouched, where family is concerned,” Olenna replied, giving him a rare look of affection. “Though I know you’ll pretend nothing is wrong, as usual.”

Petyr smiled at his adopted mother. “You know me well,” he said, glancing up as Sansa reentered the room, holding a bottle of water. She hovered for a moment, debating, before taking a seat in an armchair close by. “And how is the physical therapy coming?” he asked, directing his question at Sansa.

“Good, but I’m awfully sore. She assures me that that just means it’s working,” Olenna said.

Sansa nodded, toying with the wrapper on the plastic bottle. “It’s true what they say. No pain no gain.”

“In most cases anyway,” Petyr said, his lips quirking.

Olenna swatted at him. “One of these days I’ll permanently smack that smirk from your face. Some might think it’s endearing, but I know better.”

“Who thinks it’s endearing?” he asked curiously, eyes darting over to Sansa briefly, who was staring determinedly down at her hands.

“No one that I know of,” Olenna replied, swatting at him again. “Don’t go getting a big head just because I misspoke.”

Petyr wanted to needle her a bit more but decided just to drop it. His arm was getting sore where Olenna kept hitting him. “So, what do the two of you have planned for the evening?”

“We were planning on just staying in tonight, I think. Varys has one of his performances, so we figured we’d take advantage of his absence. Take in a movie, get some pizza,” Olenna said, smiling at Sansa.

“Is he going straight from work?” Petyr asked, wondering if maybe he might have lucked out and managed to score an evening with Sansa without his brother’s smug looks.

“You mean, if you decide to stay, will you have to worry about Varys dropping in?” Olenna said wryly.

Petyr shrugged. “I’m not entirely anxious to see him again, I’ll admit it. But that’s usually the case. He’s better in small, infrequent doses.”

“He said he wouldn’t be back until late tonight,” Sansa offered.

“But it’s not as if we invited you anyway,” Olenna added with grin.

Petyr faked a look of hurt. “Ouch,” he said. “But alright, I get it. I can see when I’m not wanted. Shall I head out now, then?”

Olenna rolled her eyes. “You’re acting leaves something to be desired. But if Sansa has no objection, I suppose you may join us.”

Petyr turned to look at Sansa, who was staring at the ground, smiling. Noticing his gaze, she raised her head and shrugged. “You don’t get any say in the movie though. We’ve already decided,” she said.

“Oh? What are you watching?” he asked.

“You’ve Got Mail,” Sansa replied, her eyes dancing with mirth.

Petyr frowned. “Perhaps I won’t stay after all,” he teased. “Romantic comedies aren’t exactly my forte.”

Olenna snorted. “Oh, please. There was a time when you were my constant companion during such films.”

“I was eight,” Petyr said, rolling his eyes. “I grew out of it.”

“Not until you were, what was it, twelve?” Olenna recalled, laughing. “Then, of course, Edmure found out and teased you about it, and I lost my viewing buddy. A shame, I missed you after that. You were such a sweet kid.” She caught herself and then turned flippant again. “I’m really not sure what happened.”

“Puberty, among other things. Also wisdom,” Petyr said cheekily.

“You’re implying you’re too smart for romantic comedies?” Sansa asked archly.

“Not entirely. Though you must admit that the typical romantic comedy isn’t the most thought provoking of movies. They’re more for mindless enjoyment than anything. I only meant that I grew out of them. The older I got, the more I realized that real life didn’t reflect the movies. It seemed foolish to keep indulging in them. And not just that particular genre,” Petyr replied carefully.

Sansa seemed satisfied with his answer, or at least she wasn’t offended. “So you don’t watch movies at all anymore?”

“Not a whole lot, no. But it’s not as if avoid them, or anything. At one point, that was the case, but not anymore. Now I mostly just don’t have the time. For much of anything entertainment wise. Though I do still read.”

Olenna poked him with her cane. “Get me a drink, will you? I’m parched.”

Petyr got up. “Yes, Your Majesty. What would you like?”

Olenna whacked him around the shins with her cane. “Cranberry juice,” she said sweetly. “And I’ve told you not to call me that.”

“No, you told me not to call you the Queen of Thorns,” Petyr tossed over his shoulder as he went into the kitchen. “And I didn’t.”

Sansa laughed. “Queen of Thorns?” she asked.

Petyr quickly filled a glass with cranberry juice and returned, holding it out to his scowling mother. She took it and then smacked him with the cane again. He was going to have countless bruises before he finally went home. “It’s a nickname Varys and I coined for her, back when we were kids,” he said, settling back on the couch.

“A bit pretentious, don’t you think? Most kids think of less elaborate nicknames,” Sansa commented, shifting on her chair so she could tuck her legs under her.

Petyr shrugged. “Varys has always been a bit eccentric. And she was known for her prized rosebushes. Plus, she’s always been a bit of a thorn in our side, so to speak.” He dodged Olenna’s hand as she swatted at him again.

“I changed my mind,” Olenna said. “You’re no longer welcome to stay with us for the movie.”

“I was just explaining the origin of the nickname,” he protested, even though he knew she wasn’t being serious.

Olenna finished her juice and handed the glass back to him. “Well, if you are going to stay, you’ll have to make do without me for awhile. I need a bit of a lie in. Stayed up way too late last night watching reruns of The Golden Girls.”

At that, Sansa caught Petyr’s eye and grinned at him. He smirked back, remembering their phone conversation, and how they’d compared Olenna to Sophia. The two women even looked similar, though Olenna didn’t wear glasses. “Alright, I suppose I can find some way to pass the time,” he said, raising his eyebrows at Sansa.

“I’ll only be an hour or so,” Olenna said, rising from the couch and heading off to her room. “You behave yourself while I’m gone. If he gets on your nerves, don’t be afraid to tell him off, sweet girl.”

Sansa laughed, shaking her head in amusement. “Sleep well,” she called after Olenna, watching her leave, before turning back to face him, suddenly looking a bit shy again.

“You don’t have to stay and entertain me, you know,” Petyr said, the words out of his mouth before he’d thought them through properly. He didn’t want her to leave, but she’d looked uncomfortable again and he’d felt the odd urge to act like a gentleman. Strange.

She raised her eyebrows at him. “Do you want me to leave?”

“Do you want to leave?” he deflected.

Sansa groaned. “Do you make a habit of answering questions with questions?”

He chuckled. “Do you?”

She laughed at that. “Stop,” she implored him, though it was said between giggles.

Petyr smirked at her and decided to change the subject. “How are you settling in?”

“Alright. I’m all unpacked now, and I’m developing a kind of routine for housework and seeing to Olenna’s needs,” she said.

“And they aren’t driving you up the wall yet?”

Sansa shook her head. “No. Varys has been making himself pretty scarce ever since I moved in. I’m not sure if that was the case before, or if he just wants to give me space.”

“Likely it’s a bit of both. He and Olenna tend to butt heads a lot. Not to mention that, while he trades in gossip, he’s a very private man,” Petyr reassured her.

One of Olenna’s cats jumped up onto the back of Sansa’s chair, startling her. She twisted around and stroked its fur as it settled down behind her. It was pure white, save for a black spot dotting its left ear. “Hello, Left,” she murmured, before glancing up at him. “I can’t seem to remember whether this is Arryk or Erryk,” she confessed.

Petyr laughed. “Couldn’t tell you either,” he admitted. “I don’t think Olenna herself knows. Luthor was the one who named them. She only ever calls them Left and Right.”

Sansa gave the cat another pat and turned to face him again, biting her lip. “That night we talked,” she said slowly. “I did enjoy it. You’re very easy to talk to.”

“As are you,” he said, wondering where she was going with this.

She fidgeted with her hands in her lap again, still gnawing at her lip. “I’m glad we seem to be becoming friends. Considering I live with your family right now, it’s great that we’re connecting well.” She paused, then continued. “I mean, I’m already pretty close to Margaery, Loras, and Olenna, and with my own family so far away, it’s almost as if I’ve found a second one.”

Petyr didn’t exactly like where this was heading. Was she about to refer to him as a brother now? Or rather, probably more like an uncle. Deja vu and he hadn’t done more than flirt with the girl. A bit shamelessly in truth, but she’d given as good as she got. He decided not to say anything, waiting for his silence to prod her to continue.

“I’m just… I’m glad we get along well. I only hope the same happens with Varys, considering we live together,” she finished a bit lamely.

“I’m sure you will,” he said, glad he seemed to have been spared from being referred to directly as family. Sure, he’d been called her friend, but he didn’t prescribe to that stupid notion of friendzoning. Anything could happen and the foundation of a good relationship was often based in friendship itself. Just because you were once considered a girl’s friend didn’t rule out the prospect of romance. It was all about timing, and the people involved. He’d had bad luck where Cat was concerned, but he was certain that at the very least, Sansa was attracted to him. And if she wanted only his friendship for now, he could live with that. He was nothing if not patient.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A quick note about Olenna: her smacks are all playfully done, her way of chastising her kids and showing affection. They don't really hurt that much or cause bruises, Petyr is just being his usual snarky self in his thoughts.
> 
> Hope you liked it! More to come on Monday I think :)


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The epitome of fluff, in the form of romantic comedies, pizza, and ice cream. Sansa and Petyr flirt. A lot.

Sansa was once again stumbling over her words, trying her damndest to back herself into a corner where Petyr was concerned. She liked him, she really did, and she wanted him to like her too (and was certain he did) but it would be incredibly stupid to pursue a relationship with him. Not that he’d asked, but she suspected that might come at some point. 

So when Olenna left them alone, she wound up trying to hint to him once more that it wasn’t in the cards, practically referring to him as family. Saying they were friends. She stopped short of actually saying he was family though. In part because she honestly didn’t want to dissuade him. Their phone conversation that night had been glorious. And she hadn’t been lying. It was so easy to talk to him. Even if occasionally she found herself shy and self conscious, but that was always the case when you were attracted to someone.

But Sansa was at war with herself, her better judgement in an all out battle with the familiar melody of the song she’d heard when she’d first seen him. It was as if Heart and Soul was a link that tied the two of them together, and the deeper connotations of that weren’t lost on her. Fate was clearly giving her a little nudge in Petyr’s direction, and oh, how she wanted to give in. She couldn’t though. It was a no good, very bad idea to even entertain the thought. Forget about the fact that he was her boss, he was once in love with her mother, and married to Lysa, and the fallout from all of that wouldn’t exactly help matters if they dated and it turned serious. She imagined what might happen if she brought him home to meet her family, how her father would likely get into another fight with Petyr that resulted in further trauma. Just, no. It really wouldn’t do.

She shifted on her chair, uncurling her legs so she could stretch. “How have you been?” she asked after a moment, suddenly feeling a bit unnerved by the silence they had just lapsed into.

“I’ve been well,” Petyr replied, then added, “Busy,” when his phone beeped. He pulled the phone from his pocket and checked it before putting it back.

“Everything ok?”

Petyr nodded, then got up, walking over to Varys’ liquor stash. “You want anything?”

“No, I’m ok.” She watched as he poured himself some whiskey. On his way back to the couch, he reached out and gave Left a scratch behind the ears, and she felt the cat’s motor start where its body rested against her back. Sansa turned to look and Petyr’s hand briefly brushed her cheek before he pulled it away and returned to the couch. She hoped he hadn’t noticed the color rising in her skin, or the way her heart had started thumping painfully loudly, a vibrant tattoo against her ribcage.

That had only been the second time they’d touched. The first being the day they’d been properly introduced. Petyr had held out his hand to shake, and when she’d taken it, a spark had zinged between them, one that she was sure had nothing to do with static. Then he’d held her hand to his lips and dropped a soft kiss on the back, and she’d been afraid she might melt into the floor, a Sansa Stark puddle that would have to be cleaned up later. Why oh why had the gods put her in such a situation? Did they have nothing better to do than torture her poor heart? First Joffrey, and now this. An undeniable attraction to a man that had so many warning signs attached to him that if they were in neon she’d be blinded from the force of the artificial light.

Petyr cleared his throat, jerking her out of her reverie. “Penny for your thoughts?”

Oh no, she wouldn’t be telling him what was on her mind. “I’m afraid they’re worth far more than a penny,” she said apologetically.

He smirked at her. “Name your price then.”

“You couldn’t afford it,” Sansa assured him.

The smirk grew. “Try me.”

“Nope,” she said cheekily. “My inner musings are priceless.”

“Everything has its price,” he insisted, eyes glinting with mischief. “Though I have no doubt those thoughts of yours are worth a considerable sum.”

Sansa grinned at him. “I cannot be bought, Mr. Baelish.”

“Back to that now, are we,” Petyr protested. “There’s no need for such formality. I may be your boss, but this is hardly a normal situation.”

She shrugged. “I signed a contract, didn’t I? That seems pretty formal.”

“That was for your benefit, rather than ours. It was just a way to guarantee your rights, something you could refer to if Varys didn’t want to let you take a day off.”

“Still, I think it’s better not to call you by your first name,” Sansa said, purposely goading him, because she could tell it bothered him, and she just couldn’t stop herself from flirting with him that way.

“And what do you call Varys? And Olenna?” Petyr inquired.

“Varys and Olenna,” she said, smirking at him.

“Now that’s hardly fair,” he said, mock pouting.

Sansa giggled. Gods, she could spend the rest of her life bantering with this man. “Life isn’t fair,” she said loftily.

Petyr rolled his eyes. “Don’t I know it. So, should I call you Miss Stark then?”

“Nah, Sansa will do. Or perhaps my lady.” Gods she just couldn’t seem to help herself.

He raised his eyebrows. “Only if you call me ‘my lord.’”

“Lord Baelish does have a nice ring to it,” Sansa mused. 

“If you say so, sweetling.”

There was that nickname again. Secretly she was thrilled. But she couldn’t let him know that. “That nickname hasn’t reached reached approval from me yet,” she said reprovingly.

“Yet?” Petyr asked, looking amused.

Damn. “Scrap the yet.”

“It’s too late. It’s already out there.” He smirked at her again.

She decided to change the subject. “Olenna’s right you know. That smirk isn’t endearing,” she lied.

“Isn’t it?”

“Nope.” Behind her, Left decided he was tired of his perch and rose, arching his back in a stretch before jumping lightly to the floor. Sansa turned to watch the cat, smiling as he made his way to patch of sunlight on the floor and flopped down into the warmth. It was a beautiful day out, and yet she’d been cooped up inside all day. “I think I could use a bit of sun,” she said, standing up and gesturing to the terrace.

Petyr got up as well, and followed her out, leaning casually against the guardrail next to her chair, face turned to the gorgeous view of the city Varys’ terrace afforded. He was dressed in a suit, just like the other times she had seen him, and she wondered if he was feeling overheated at all. It wasn’t too hot out, but she imagined he wouldn’t be feeling very comfortable before long. He was quiet, and she took the opportunity to watch him for a moment, while his gaze was averted. 

A glint of sunlight caught her wandering eyes, and she shielded them to get a better look, spotting a silver tie pin in the shape of a bird. Without thinking, she reached up and fingered the pin, and Petyr turned his head, glancing down at her. Sansa stood to get a better look, holding his gaze for a moment before studying the pin. “Is this a mockingbird?”

“Yes,” he replied. Was it her imagination, or was his voice suddenly huskier?

Sansa smiled and straightened his tie again before releasing it. They were standing so close, and it was her own fault, really. But she didn’t want to move away. Tentatively, she glanced up at him again, meeting his eyes, and felt her pulse skitter at the heat she saw there. He didn’t say anything, only stared at her, and she bit her lip as her gaze briefly fell to his mouth of its own accord, before she tore her eyes away again. She stepped back and dropped into her chair again, cursing her stupidity, looking anywhere but at him.

They were quiet again, the only sounds the gentle breeze and the rapid thump thump thump of her traitorous heart. It really didn’t know what was best for it. She closed her eyes to gain her bearings, leaning her head back to let the warmth of the sun work its calming magic, only opening them when Petyr spoke.

“Olenna’s awake.”

They went back inside to join the older woman, and debated for awhile about where they would order pizza from, and what they would get, before finally placing their order. While they waited, they started the movie, and despite Petyr’s protestations against it, he seemed to enjoy You’ve Got Mail nearly as much as Sansa and Olenna. It was a cute movie, she reasoned. One of the better romantic comedies out there. She knew he was right, most movies in that genre wouldn’t exactly be winning any awards, but that wasn’t exactly their purpose anyway. They were simply an escape, a way to cope when life didn’t have any intention of cooperating.

When their pizza arrived, Petyr paid for it, refusing to let Sansa pay him back for her share. “Think of it as a bonus,” he said. “For a job well done.”

They ate while they finished the movie, Petyr and Olenna joking about how horrified Varys would be that they were eating on his expensive couch. Left and Right wandered back into the room, begging for morsels of food, and Olenna gave each of them a bit of gooey pizza cheese, which they happily gobbled up. At one point Olenna dropped a bit of pepperoni on the couch, leaving a tiny smear of grease, but she just got up and made Petyr flip the cushion, sharing a conspiratorial look with Sansa.

After You’ve Got Mail, Olenna told her to put in Sleepless in Seattle, and Petyr raised his eyebrows, but didn’t complain, and Sansa secretly suspected he was enjoying watching movies with his mother again. When the closing credits rolled across the screen, Olenna commented that it was a pity that Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan hadn’t done more films together.

“Actually, they’ve done at least one other,” Sansa spoke up, grinning slyly at Petyr who looked a bit exasperated at the prospect of another romantic comedy. “Joe Versus the Volcano.”

Olenna brightened at that. “What’s it about?”

“Oh, you know, your typical love story. Man thinks he’s dying, decides to go to some obscure island and sacrifice himself by jumping into an active volcano, hoping to appease the gods. But of course, he falls in love along the way.”

“Of course,” Petyr said sarcastically. “And I’ll bet he doesn’t die in the end, and everything ends up happily ever after.”

Sansa ignored him and grinned at Olenna. “I have the DVD if you want to watch it.”

“Of course, go get it child,” Olenna encouraged her before turning to Petyr. “And you, quit being such a brat. I know full well you’ve been enjoying yourself.”

Sansa laughed as she got up and made for her room. “She’s right, you know,” she called over her shoulder.

It didn’t take her long to find the movie, and when she returned they all settled in to watch the film, stopping partway through to get bowls of ice cream when Olenna decided she needed something sweet. Petyr put away more mint chocolate chip ice cream than Sansa thought was possible for his slim frame, smirking at her when he noticed her watching him with raised eyebrows.

Olenna caught her gaze with an amused expression of her own..”He never could resist mint.”

Petyr only shrugged and kept on eating, and Sansa turned back to the movie with a grin, filing away that bit of information for later. After Joe Versus the Volcano wrapped up, Olenna told them she needed to get to bed, and ushered Petyr out the door before bidding Sansa goodnight. Sansa cleaned up, throwing away the empty pizza box and rinsing the dishes before putting them in the dishwasher and turning it on. She was half disappointed and half relieved that Olenna had kicked him out. It was for the best, but she found herself missing him already.

When she returned to her room, she got ready for bed and crawled under the covers with a book, grabbing her phone along the way so that she could set an alarm for tomorrow morning. She unlocked the screen with a swipe of her thumb, and smiled when she spotted a message from Petyr: ‘Had a good time tonight. Hope I don’t wake up tomorrow with a Brain Cloud from being exposed to so much romance.’

Sansa giggled and debated for a bit about replying, before finally deciding against it. If she responded, she’d likely spend half the night talking to him again. And she didn’t trust herself not to fall for this man. She knew she was already dangerously close to it as it was. It seemed inevitable. But if she could delay it, she would. Her heart needed a break for the moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I am anxious to hear what you think! <3


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Petyr schemes to spend more time with Sansa, asking for dancing lessons that he doesn't need in the slightest. An iconic scene from Frasier happens near the end that I think you'll love!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m Gonna Be (500 Miles) by The Proclaimers.  
> Heart and Soul by Dean Martin

Petyr wasn’t entirely surprised when Sansa never answered his text. She was sending him mixed signals all over the place, running hot and cold as her brain warred with her heart. Or rather, something far less pure and innocent. He hadn’t known her very long, but he could easily read her thoughts and feelings through her movements and tone of voice, see the words she didn’t say. Even more so than with others. It was almost as if his mind had direct access to the Sansa Stark Show, broadcasting for him, and him alone. The girl seemed to be an open book where he was concerned, and hell if he didn’t love it.

Sansa wanted him, and it was against her better judgement, so she was fighting it. But her attraction to him kept making her slip up, drawing her ever closer to him like a moth to a lit screen in a darkened room, drawn to the light against its better instincts, against all common sense. Who even knew why the moth went to the light, and perhaps it didn’t matter. All that mattered was that something drew that moth in.

If Petyr was a better man, he’d stop dropping by to see her. He’d leave the poor girl in peace. But he was selfish, and he wanted her too. And anyway, he hadn’t gotten something that he wanted in years, nothing important anyway. Nor had anyone he truly wanted returned those feelings. If he wasn’t willing to give that up, was it really that bad? He wasn’t the best person, and he was probably capable of a lot more than he’d done in his life, but he wasn’t deplorable. Those laws they were all governed by, he hadn’t broken any of the important ones. The most he’d ever done really, was a bit of creative accounting as CFO at LASE. And okay, he was a bit lax about illegal substances in his clubs. But really, there were far worse crimes.

Sansa Stark could do far worse than him, and if she wanted him too, if he somehow made her happy, then why shouldn’t he go for it? So what if he was her boss. If that were truly such a big deal, he could find a way around it. Petyr didn’t do more than pay her salary anyway. Varys was the one who would be ordering her about.

Of course, there was also his past with her family, the perpetual thorn in his side no matter how much time had passed. But he was willing to put up with her family, even his crazy ex wife, if it meant being with her. It would make family functions truly awful, but it would be worth it so long as there was love. Though perhaps he was getting a bit ahead of himself there. That stupid song (alright, he regretted that. It wasn’t the song’s fault. Sorry mom) was warping his brain by persisting in its perpetual loop whenever he so much as thought of Sansa.

No, Petyr wasn’t going to stay away. He’d be patient, let her come to him romantically, but he’d drop by as often as he could without incurring more snide remarks from Varys and Olenna than he could take. And Sansa would be his at some point. He knew she would. She was slowly melting, just as he was (though in truth he wasn’t resisting. It was only years of guarding his heart that kept him from thawing entirely that first moment he’d laid eyes on her).

Petyr stopped by again a week later. He might have waited a bit longer, but he hadn’t had any contact with her since the day he’d been forced to watch three Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan movies in a row. Since Sansa hadn’t replied to his text, he decided not to attempt anything further by phone, trying to keep a respectable distance, but the lack of any interaction with her was rubbing his nerves raw. His self control was apparently getting dashed to pieces where Sansa was concerned.

Unfortunately, when he knocked, no one answered. Petyr thought for a moment that no one was home, but a few strains of music told him otherwise. The music was far louder than he’d ever heard Varys play it, and not at all to his brother’s taste anyway, so he assumed it was Sansa’s doing. He reached out and tried the doorknob, smirking when he found it unlocked, before letting himself inside.

The music was blaring from a laptop set on the kitchen table (which was actually situated just outside the kitchen, due to a lack of space, but they called it the kitchen table regardless), and he could hear someone belting out the lyrics to I’m Gonna Be (500 Miles) by The Proclaimers in the kitchen. Knowing that it could only be Sansa (Olenna wasn’t prone to singing and she’d probably never even heard the song before), Petyr moved quietly towards the kitchen and peered through the open doorway. There she was, dancing around in the kitchen, red hair flying as she she dried off the freshly washed pots and pans draining in a rack above the sink.

She looked adorable, spinning around with her eyes closed, a frying pan clutched to her chest as she sang along with the same accent as The Proclaimers. Petyr stepped more fully into view, leaning casually against the doorframe as she spun away from him and set the pan down, picking up another and drying it with a dish towel.

“And Ah would walk 500 miles, and Ah would walk 500 more. Just to be the man who walked a thousand miles to fall down at your door.” She turned again as she sang the chorus, startling when she saw him. The newly washed pan dropped to the floor with a crash, and Sansa’s flushed cheeks rivaled her hair.

She dashed past him and dove for the laptop, pausing the music as he bent down and picked up the pan. When she came back into the kitchen, she took the pan from him with a scowl and put it back in the sink. “Now I’ve gotta wash it all over again,” she complained.

“I’m sorry. I was just enjoying the show,” Petyr said. He nudged her away from the sink and reached for the dish soap. “Here, I’ll do it.”

“You don’t have to,” Sansa said, but she didn’t stop him as he squirted the pan with Dawn and reached for the sponge.

“Nice dancing, by the way,” he said, finishing soaping the pan and rinsing it under the tap. She gave him a skeptical look and he continued. “No, really. I’m envious of those moves. You’ve taken lessons, I bet.” He was careful to sound genuine there, which wasn’t hard, because he actually meant it.

Sansa took the pan from him and dried it, still looking skeptical. “I have,” she said, frowning a bit as she put the pan away and reached for a soup pot.

A wicked idea was suddenly forming his mind and he couldn’t bring himself not to act on it. “Wish I’d taken lessons as a boy. I could have used them, considering the charity event coming up for LASE.” He wasn’t lying. Not really. He hadn’t taken lessons. Not as a boy anyway. He’d taken a few in college though.

She picked up an iron skillet and carefully wiped away the moisture before returning it to its proper place. “A charity event?”

Petyr watched her wipe down the drying rack and put it back under the sink, closing the cupboard doors. “Mhmm. Mandatory, since the company is sponsoring the event. Part of showing our investors and customers how much we supposedly care. It’s meant to be an elegant evening, with dinner and dancing.”

“Sounds lovely,” Sansa said, looking wistful for a moment before she caught herself.

“Should be a nice night,” he agreed. “Unfortunately I have to find a date, and in all likelihood she’ll want to dance. Which has never particularly been my forte.” He let that sink in for a moment. In truth, he didn’t _have_ to bring a date but it would look better if he did. He didn’t fool himself into thinking Sansa would go with him, but he was shooting a bit lower. She just needed to take the bait.

Sansa studied him, biting her lip. “I suppose I could help you out there. If you want,” she said hesitantly.

And success! Petyr raised his eyebrows. “What? Dancing lessons?” He was careful not to show how thrilled he was.

She nodded. “Just enough to give you the general idea. In case your date wants to dance,” she clarified.

“I would very much appreciate it,” he said honestly.

Sansa smiled at him. “How about tonight?”

“Tonight?” he hadn’t expected for it to be so soon, but sure, he’d take it. “Ok.” He paused. “But what about Olenna? And Varys?” No way he wanted to do this with them around. Neither of them knew he’d taken a few lessons in college, so they wouldn’t give him away, but he didn’t want them around regardless.

“Olenna just left an hour ago. She’s playing poker with a group of friends. And Varys has another performance, though in all honesty I have no idea as to the particulars of that. I thought about asking, but it still seems rude to pry, even if Olenna wouldn’t mind telling me. Anyway, I’m on my own tonight.”

Petyr frowned. “It’s Saturday though. Aren’t you going out with your friends?”

Sansa grinned. “You sound as though you’re trying to worm your way out of the lessons already. That worried about it?”

He laughed. “No, just curious.”

“I went out with Margaery and Loras last night. Today I’m just taking it easy and catching up on housework.” Sansa pulled a bottle of lemon flavored water out of the fridge and wandered out of the kitchen, setting it down next to her open laptop. “So, you still up for it?”

He nodded. “Ready when you are.”

Sansa bent down and fiddled with her laptop, bringing up a different playlist. Classical music drifted from the speakers, at a much lower volume than The Proclaimers. She straightened up again and smiled at him, before sweeping her gaze around the room. “Hmm, let’s just go over here, shall we. We’ll have a bit more space to maneuver.”

Petyr followed her over to an open space near the grand piano, and she moved into position, directing him on where to place his hands. He did it slightly wrong on purpose, just so she’d correct him, enjoying being so close to her. And then they began to move, and it was difficult to keep up the pretense of a novice dancer, but he did his best. It was hard though, to strike the balance between being a beginner and still take care not to step on her bare feet. Even if it would keep up the pretense, he wasn’t about to trod on those pink painted toes. Sansa taught him several of the basic dance steps, correcting him when necessary, and soon they were dancing without her careful instruction, Petyr making sure to fumble a bit every now and then, though she barely seemed to notice.

They lost track of the time, just swaying contentedly to the music, no longer speaking, grey-green eyes locked onto ice blue, only blinks severing their gaze. Petyr realized he was no longer pretending to learn to dance, his movements far more graceful than before, but she didn’t comment on it, too swept up in the moment. Her lips parted slightly as their bodies moved closer, and he swore that her heart was beating in time with his own, though both were erratic.

When his phone rang, it broke the spell, and Sansa stepped away, shaking her head slightly to clear the daze as he reached into his pocket for the cursed device. He felt nearly as lost as Sansa looked, and he was sure she noticed. She moved over to her laptop, stopping the music as he checked his phone. The caller ID told him that it was his boss, the crass and inept Robert Baratheon, so Petyr knew he couldn’t avoid answering it. He sighed and flashed Sansa an apologetic smile before holding the phone up to his ear. “Hello Robert.”

Robert’s voice blared through the speaker so loud that Petyr had to hold the phone away from his ear. “Baelish, we’ve got a bit of a problem. It seems my son hasn’t been answering his phone for the past few days, and the wife is getting a bit insufferable in her worrying.” Robert snorted. “More than usual anyway. Do me a favor, would you? Check and see if he’s at The Mockingbird.”

Petyr sighed. “Alright, I’ll look into it.” Robert hung up without so much as a goodbye or a thank you. Petyr glanced up at Sansa before scrolling through his contacts to find Olyvar, who ran the club in his absence. “Sorry, it will just be a moment,” he assured her, before hitting the call button.

“What can I do for you, boss?” Olyver drawled, his voice barely intelligible over the pounding music.

“Is Joffrey Baratheon on the premises tonight?” Petyr saw Sansa wince as he said the name, and felt guilty. Perhaps he should have left the room before making the call.

“Yup, why?”

“No reason. Send me his exact location in the club, and make sure he doesn’t leave for an hour or so.” Petyr didn’t know if that would be necessary, but he thought he’d cover all the bases just the same.

“Will do.” Olyvar didn’t sound fazed by the odd request.

This time it was Petyr who hung up without another word. A moment later his phone buzzed with a text, which he then copied and sent to Robert, informing him that Joffrey would be there for at least another hour if Cersei wanted to check in on him. Petyr silenced his phone afterwards and returned it to his pocket, not caring if his boss tried to contact him again. Sansa was still standing there, her hands at her elbows as she stared at the floor. “I’m sorry,” he said, rather lamely.

Sansa raised her head so that she could look at him, and then shrugged. “It’s ok. Not your fault that Joffrey’s so inconsiderate.”

Petyr took a step closer to her, reaching out to touch her again, then thought better of it and dropped his hand. She looked so glum though, whereas moments before she’d been swept away by a far more pleasant emotion. He wanted to cheer her up, somehow. “Have you eaten yet?” he asked, at a loss for something else to say.

She shook her head. “No. What time is it?”

“Almost seven.”

“No wonder I’m hungry.” She bit her lip. “I was planning on making chicken fajitas, if you wanted some.”

“Sounds good.” Petyr offered her a smile and gestured towards the kitchen. “Shall we get cooking then?”

Sansa returned his smile and walked into the kitchen, pulling out the necessary ingredients for their dinner. The bell peppers and red onion still needed chopping, so she retrieved two cutting boards and a pair of knives, handing him one. “Pick your poison,” she said. “Onion or pepper.”

Petyr gallantly chose the onion, not wanting those beautiful blue eyes to tear up. Not from Joffrey Baratheon, and not from a vegetable that had no business making someone cry. They started chopping, and he grinned as he noticed their movements falling in sync. “Look, we’re chopping in rhythm,” he remarked.

Sansa smiled, and began humming along to the beat of their knives. The tune was so achingly familiar that he almost stopped chopping, before he caught himself and kept moving his knife in time with hers. Almost without meaning to, he started to sing, voice soft. “Heart and soul.” Her smile broadened, and she continued to hum, and he couldn’t have stopped singing if he’d tried. “I fell in love with you, heart and soul.”

She joined him at the next part, her sweet voice harmonizing perfectly with his. “The way a fool would do madly. Because you held me tight. And stole, a kiss in the night.”

The chopping stopped, the knives lay forgotten, and they just stared at each other for a moment, caught in the other’s gaze. Petyr saw Sansa’s breathing hitch, and suddenly he couldn’t take it any longer, closing the distance between them and capturing her lips in a kiss, one hand caressing her soft cheek. She didn’t hesitate, gripping his shoulder with one hand as she kissed him back. His free hand went to her waist, and he pulled her closer, craving further contact as he deepened the kiss.

Her breasts pressed against his chest, and her lips parted in a low moan as her arms wound around his torso, dragging him closer. Petyr took advantage of the part and touched his tongue to hers, almost overcome by the jolt that shocked through him as he tasted the lemon still lingering on her tastebuds. He could feel Sansa’s fingers weaving through his hair, the gentle tugs as her mouth moved more urgently against his own, and he groaned, a low growl that only spurred her further. Her tongue battled with his and he buried his hand in her fiery waves, weaving his fingers through the silky strands, losing every ounce of self control he’d ever had, all at once. Losing his heart. And his soul. And everything in between.

 

[I'm Gonna Be (500 Miles) by The Proclaimers](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=84CPo4bVkMk)

[Niles and Daphne sing Heart and Soul](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hBvoKrCmHZY)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I know you all are liking the slow burn, so hopefully this didn't happen too fast.
> 
> The chopping scene was inspired from Niles and Daphne in Frasier, and I've included a youtube link at the end of the chapter!
> 
> What did you think?


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa and Petyr make out. A lot.

Sansa was lost, swept along on the oh so familiar melody of her favorite song, the notes and lyrics still flowing through her veins, pumped along by her heart, though she and Petyr had long ago stopped singing. He tasted of mint, and it mingled with the lemon still lingering on her tongue, a delicate dance of cool and bitter that somehow melded together perfectly. It was stupid, and against her better judgement, and it felt so right. She kissed him with equal fervour, practically melting in his embrace as they moved so close to one another that only their clothes separated them.

She really wasn’t sure how long it lasted. It was one of those moments that somehow felt like an eternity and only a fraction of a second at the same time, one of life’s little contradictions, reality blurred by the spike of desire and thundering pulse. When Petyr pulled away, she realized with a shock that she was pressed against the refrigerator door, felt the magnets Olenna had placed there digging into her back as she crashed back down to earth. He didn’t say anything, just stared at her, breaths ragged, eyes black as ink, his body still flush against her own. Sansa stared back at him for a moment, heart still racing along, a steady thump thump thump that said she wanted this, so badly, and who was she to deny her heart? Following the path her heart had set out for her, she pulled his head back to her own, crushing her lips to his, and that was really all the encouragement he needed.

They picked up right where they had left off, as though no time had passed at all, lips and tongues and hands growing steadily more frantic. No clothing was torn asunder, but their hands wandered nevertheless, stroking and touching and cupping through the layers of fabric, eliciting groans and whimpers that were lost when their mouths never broke contact. Sansa’s arms curled around Petyr’s shoulders, one leg hitching up around his waist, and it seemed their heights were made for each other, their clothed sexes brushing against one another with very little effort, even while standing. She used the leg hooked around his waist to drag him closer, craving friction, and he rocked his hips obligingly, drawing a gasp from her lips.

The gasp quickly turned from desire to horror as the fridge gave a wobble behind her, and Petyr tore away from her, looking alarmed. He glared at the fridge for a moment before letting out a sheepish chuckle. “Perhaps that wasn’t the best idea.” Sansa flinched at his words, and he clarified. “No, I meant, the fridge. Not the kiss.” He stared at her, suddenly uncertain. “Unless you think so…” He trailed off and turned away.

Sansa let out a breath of air. “No. I don’t know.” She groaned and covered her face. “I’m sorry, I just…” She sighed, and tried to unravel the mess that was churning around inside her brain. During the kiss, her thoughts had turned completely to mush, and if they hadn’t already been muddled before, they were about a million times worse now. “I need to think,” she said finally, removing her hands from her face and chancing a look at him.

Petyr was still turned away from her, his hair adorably disheveled. “Alright,” he said slowly, turning to face her again. He gestured at the food. “Still hungry?”

She nodded, feeling relieved, and they set about prepping the rest of their meal, working silently and really quite well together, even though they’d never cooked with one another before. As she cooked the chicken, she snuck glances at him, watching as he pulled the rest of the fajita fixings from the fridge. Petyr didn’t look upset. In fact, he looked perfectly composed once more, and she wondered how much of it was real, and how much of it was the mask he’d perfected over the years, just another way to guard his heart, to maintain control in a world that so often ripped it from your grasp.

“What else did you need?” he asked, looking at her expectantly.

Sansa turned from the chicken sizzling away on the stove, and surveyed the island. Cheese, hot sauce, guacamole, flour tortillas. “Sour cream and jalapenos.”

He ducked his head back into the fridge, searching for what she wanted. “You like spicy food then?”

“Yes, to an extent. I mainly like the flavor,” she replied, adding the freshly cut bell pepper and red onion to the pan with the cooked chicken, and giving the mixture a good stir, searing the vegetables.

“Clearly,” Petyr said, holding up the jar of jalapenos and tapping on the part of the label that read ‘tamed.’

“What? I can take the heat of regular ones, but if I get the tamed variety then I can have more,” Sansa said. “Now go make yourself useful and set the table. This is almost done.”

“As you wish,” he said, smirking as he pulled two plates from the cupboards and grabbed cutlery from a drawer.

She turned and grabbed his arm as he made to leave. “Was that a reference, by any chance?”

Petyr raised an eyebrow and flashed her another smirk. “Maybe.”

She bit her lip and let go of his arm, feeling overwhelmed again. He left the kitchen to see to the table, and she focused on finishing up the chicken and vegetables, since she couldn’t begin to sort out her own mind. But when she couldn’t baby the food any longer, and he returned to the kitchen to get them drinking glasses, she had to ask again. “Was it?”

“What do you want to drink?” he asked instead. “Water?”

Sansa put her hands on her hips and shot him a look. “Was it?”

“I wasn’t sure you knew the movie,” he said hesitantly, filling one of the glasses with ice and then water.

Of course she knew that movie. She’d once had a massive crush on Cary Elwes _because_ of that movie. It was one of the most romantic movies of all time, and iconic besides. It had everything. Romance, revenge, sword fights, true love, villains, even a princess. She’d always been envious of Princess Buttercup, who’d found love in the most unexpected of places, a love that she’d thought lost, until he returned for her, just like true love always would.

But that line. It meant more than just ‘as you wish’, as any true fan knew. But maybe he hadn’t meant _that_ particular meaning. Had he? “I know it,” she said finally, unable to look him in the eye.

“It’s a good movie. I was always fond of it when I was young. Of course, I know Westley meant it a little differently than I intended, at least later on. I was just being cheeky about you ordering me about,” Petyr said carefully.

“Right,” she said, suddenly feeling stupid. “Of course.” Of course he hadn’t meant it that way. They barely knew each other. “Water with lemon, by the way.”

“Bottle or?”

“There’s lemon juice in the fridge.” Sansa busied herself with opening the sour cream and giving it a stir, before opening the other packages of food spread out on the island.

Petyr finished filling the glasses and added some lemon to hers, and went out to set them on the table, before coming back with both of their plates. He handed one to her, and they quietly made their fajitas, piling flour tortillas high with chicken, vegetables, cheese, and a variety of other toppings and condiments. Once they finished making one huge fajita apiece, they took their places across from each other at the table and began to eat. At first, they both attempted to eat the fajitas with their hands, but they had both overfilled their tortillas, and Sansa was grateful that he had thought to get them forks and knives. It was much less messy to use the silverware anyway.

She quickly realized that she was starving, and easily, and surprisingly, put away one fajita, and then a second (though the second was much smaller). It wasn’t often that she indulged so much, but the food was good, and when she was stuffing her face, at least, she had something to distract her from her current state of mind. Petyr told her that the food was excellent, praising her skills in the kitchen, and she couldn’t help but be thrilled, even if it didn’t help matters, concerning her very confused brain (her heart, of course, wasn’t confused at all. It was singular in its want. But Sansa knew all too well that her heart didn’t always have the best judgement. Joffrey was proof of that).

As they ate, they fell to talking about The Princess Bride, tossing around their favorite quotes, and reminiscing about the best scenes. Petyr did a particularly amusing (and quite spot on) impression of the ‘mawwiage’ speech that had her almost choking on her food, and then they both started rhyming, like Inigo and Fezzik, until Sansa sternly said “No more rhyming, I mean it!” and he responded with “Would anybody like a peanut?” and she nearly lost it. When they’d finished eating, they both cleaned up the dirty dishes, and packed up the leftovers, and though they were quiet, the silence felt comfortable.

Sansa had barely had a chance to sort through her thoughts during all of this, too swept up in the moment, in the charms of the man she was with, but when the kitchen was once again immaculate, she’d made a decision regardless. With every word that passed between them, every look, every seemingly innocuous touch, her heart and soul twanged to that familiar melody and she knew there wasn’t any point in resisting it any longer. It might very well be a mistake, but she’d be miserable if she didn’t take the chance. After all, it was well known that people regret far more the chances they didn’t take than the ones they did. She didn’t want to regret it. And anyway, she didn’t feel she had much of a choice in the matter. Her heart had already chosen for her.

They hovered awkwardly in the kitchen for a moment, uncertain, until Sansa spoke up, her words shy. “I’d suggest more dancing lessons, but I’m afraid I’m a bit overfull at the moment. But I’ve got the DVD of The Princess Bride in my room, if you want.”

Petyr smirked at her. “Not that we really need to watch it, having just reenacted it over dinner. But sure.”

“I’ll just go and get it then. Be right back.” She went back to her room and easily found the movie on her shelf, just where it should be, among her carefully alphabetized collection. Her nerves were getting the better of her, now that she’d made the decision to go for it, and she decided to step into the bathroom first before she went back out into the living room.

After she washed her hands, she glanced up at her reflection in the mirror, and flushed. Her hair was a bit wild, and she couldn’t believe she hadn’t thought to fix it before she’d spent over an hour with him, cooking and eating with it like that. Sansa ran a brush through her hair, and then decided to brush her teeth too, for good measure. She wasn’t expecting anything more amorous tonight, but she didn’t want bad breath regardless.

Back in the living room, Petyr was lounging on the couch, tapping away at his phone, though when he saw her come in, he put it away immediately. Sansa popped in the DVD, and, after a moment of indecision, joined him, though she sat a decent distance away. He grabbed the remote from the cushion in between them and hit play, and they settled in to watch the classic tale of a girl, and the love of her life, finding happiness against all odds. As the movie played before them, she couldn’t help shooting him furtive glances, trying to gauge his reaction to the movie, though she stopped when he caught her and smirked.

When Buttercup pushed the disguised Westley down the hill, and he called out ‘As you wish’ as he tumbled down, making the Princess realize just who he really was, before she threw herself down after him, Sansa couldn’t help sighing. “I really love this part.”

Petyr glanced over at her, and though they’d started out one couch cushion apart, she had shifted during the movie so that she could curl her legs under her, her body angled towards his. He reached out and brushed aside the curtain of hair that shielded her face partly from his gaze, tucking it behind her ear. Sansa unconsciously leaned into his touch, brief though it was. “Funny how three little words can change everything,” he said.

“Very true.” He was right. When Buttercup had heard those three words, her perception had changed entirely. But there were other words that could change everything. ‘I love you,’ for one. And ‘Heart and Soul.’ That was definitely another.

Suddenly she couldn’t bear to look back at the film, though normally her attention would never falter from it. Sansa twisted her hands in her lap as she stared into Petyr’s eyes, until he reached out and calmed their movements, taking one and smoothing his thumb along its back. She tightened her fingers just slightly in his grasp, and he shifted closer, until her bent knees brushed against his thigh, his whole body turned in her direction. A small tug on her hand, and she closed the distance, her mouth meeting his again, the contact one that could only be described as blissful, like coming home again after a rough day, or far too long of an absence.

Sansa let out a soft whimper, the kiss soft and sweet, and far more tender than it had been earlier. He still tasted of mint, and she wondered if he had found a way to brush his teeth as well, or if he carried mints around in his pocket, though it hardly mattered at the moment. All that mattered was that he kept kissing her, that he’d never stop, that the bliss wouldn’t ever end. Their movements were less fervid this time, less frantic, as though they realized that this time there wasn’t any rush. Before it had been the result of their pent up attraction for each other suddenly coming to a head, the rush of their desire sweeping them away as easily as on a beach at high tide. But it was different now. The want was just as powerful as before, but they’d gained enough perspective to be able to savor the moment, building to far more incredible crescendo.

The movie played on, forgotten, and somehow she’d blocked out the noise, her senses full of Petyr, and only Petyr. Sansa reveled in the taste of his lips and tongue, the feel of his body, hard against hers, the steady, quick thrum of their intertwining heartbeats. Before long, she’d sunk back into the couch cushions, the length of his body pressed against hers, their lips and tongues still tangling as he teased her breasts through her shirt. Even with layers of cloth between her skin and his hand, it still felt so delicious, his fingers skillfully working her into a frenzy until she felt she’d die if he didn’t touch her bare skin soon.

As if he knew her thoughts, and didn’t wish such a pathetic end to her life, the hand that had been teasing her suddenly dipped downward, and slipped under her shirt, finding its home under her bra. Sansa gasped into his mouth, and he chuckled and bit her lip, tugging gently as he tweaked her nipple. She let out another sound, this one a low keening groan, and used one hand to draw him closer, crushing her mouth to his. The kiss was no longer gentle, and it was clear they were both quickly losing the control they’d always fought to have over themselves. Apart they could appear exactly as they wanted, masks in place to the world around them, but together they only unraveled, as though the threads that could undo each of them were inexplicably connected, from the tugs on their heartstrings when they met.

Left alone, they might have continued in such a fashion until clothing no longer divided them, and they lost themselves in primal ecstasy, but sadly, it was not to be. The front door opened, and the unmistakable voice of Varys drawled out, piercing through the otherwise silent room. “Good evening.”

Petyr froze above her, and tore his lips from hers, pulling hand out from under her shirt and sitting up so quickly you’d think he’d been scalded. Sansa sat up as well, her face burning, and wondered if that really might actually be the case. She’d never felt so hot with embarrassment. However, when she got a good look at Varys, all of that fell by the wayside, replaced with confusion. Varys wasn’t dressed in his usual flamboyantly cut suits, but in a black and white evening gown, an intricate web of shining gems worked into the fabric. And on his head, was a silky black flapper wig, complete with black fringe. He was even wearing heels, their height far more than Sansa had ever dared.

“You two look like teenagers who have been caught fooling around by the girl’s parents,” Varys remarked, closing the door.

Sansa just stared at him, at a loss for words, but Petyr managed to find his voice, clearing his throat first, and checking his watch. “You’re home early.”

Varys smirked at them. “Exactly what the teenagers might say in such a situation.. Bravo for sticking to the scenario.”

Petyr rolled his eyes. “You don’t usually wear those clothes home,” he deflected.

“No, I don’t. It couldn’t be helped today. I got in a tiff with one of the other regulars, and he swiped my clothes from my dressing room in between sets. After I discovered that, I rather lost my taste for performing tonight.” Varys went to the mirror and regarded his reflection with a critical eye, before reaching up and carefully removing the wig. “What do you think, anyway?”

“Your face is a bit too fat to pull off the wig,” Petyr said helpfully.

Sansa shot Petyr a look, but Varys only nodded. “Yes, I quite agree. I thought I’d try it out though.” He turned back around to face them. “I hope you know what you’re doing.” With that, he left the room without a second glance.

Petyr turned back to her, and she bit her lip, before breaking out it a smile. She had no idea why Varys was dressed that way, but she was determined to find out. “Alright, come on. Spill,” she said.

He smirked at her. “Whatever do you mean, sweetling?” She rolled her eyes and gave him a playful nudge, before looking meaningfully at the spot where Varys had disappeared, even though she knew he knew what she was asking.

“Oh, that?” He grinned at her. “Varys has always had a flair for theatrics. He dresses in drag and sings for a crowd whenever the muses strike him. His talent for disguises as kid grew into a rather different hobby, but he’s got quite a following. They call him the Spyder. It’s his persona. He always dresses in black and white, and usually sings something from popular spy films.”

She frowned. “But, he’s a pretty popular radio star, and I haven’t heard anything about it before.”

“Varys likes to keep his life fairly private. He has his public persona, his drag persona, and his private persona, and he’s fairly careful to keep all of it separate. He might trade in gossip, but he doesn’t want his own life dragged into the public eye,” Petyr explained.

“Makes sense. I suppose that’s why he usually changes wherever he performs? Or does Olenna not know?”

“No, she knows. She loves going to see him perform. I’d bet she’d love for you to come with her sometime. Or we could all go. I haven’t seen any of his shows for a couple of months,” Petyr offered.

She felt a rush of affection for Olenna upon hearing that. The older women might be a bit blunt or brusque, but she was more open minded and tolerant than most, and she clearly loved her children. “Would he want that though? I mean, I don’t want to make him uncomfortable or anything,” Sansa said. She still hadn’t really gotten to know Varys too well, and if he preferred to keep that aspect of his life private from her, she wasn’t about to intrude.

“I’m sure he’d be fine with it, but you could always ask him.” Petyr glanced at the tv. “It seems we missed the rest of the movie.”

Sansa smirked at him. “We could always try again.”

His eyes darkened at that and he shifted closer, his face dangerously close to her own. “Oh?”

“Mhmm,” she said, eyes fluttering closed as their lips met again.

The front door opened again and they broke apart. Apparently it wasn’t meant to be. Sansa certainly did feel like a teenager again, caught making out with her boyfriend by her parents’ untimely arrival. Only this time it was Olenna. And Sansa was in her early twenties. But still.

Olenna gave them a penetrating look. “I see you two have been enjoying each other’s company.” She closed the door, and shifted her purse on her shoulder. “I’m afraid I’m too tired to visit tonight, Petyr. I hope you’ll understand.”

“Goodnight, then,” he said, turning to watch her leave.

“Goodnight,” Sansa called, trying, and probably failing at it, not to sound absolutely mortified.

“Goodnight.”

Petyr looked ready to kiss her again, but Sansa found she couldn’t. “Sorry, I just…. They’re right there.” She gestured down the hall where Varys and Olenna had retreated to their rooms.

“It’s alright.” He paused. “Though there are other places we could go. We’re not confined to the living room.”

She was tempted, she really was. But if they went back to her room, she knew where that would inevitably lead, and it was still too soon. They hadn’t even been on a proper date yet. And they hadn’t known each other for all that long besides. It had been several weeks since they’d first met, but they’d only been in each other’s company a handful of times. “No, we’d better not,” she said reluctantly.

He nodded. “Did you want me to go then?”

“Not really, but I don’t want to move too fast,” she confessed.

Petyr gazed at her thoughtfully for a moment. “That charity event. I still need a date.”

A slow smile spread over her face. “Are you asking?”

“Yes. It’s next Saturday.”

“Ok,” she agreed.

Petyr grinned and leaned in to kiss her again, and when he pulled away she was a bit breathless. He stood, pulling her up after him, and walked over to the door, resting his hand lightly on the handle. “I’ll drop in again before then,” he promised. “Or call you, at the very least.”

“Goodnight,” Sansa said softly, smiling against his mouth as he gave her one more, lingering kiss.

“Goodnight, sweetling,” he whispered, before opening the door and slipping outside, gifting her with one more smirk before he closed the door behind him.

When he left, he took the force of the melody with him, though some of it still lingered whenever she thought over the events of tonight. She’d made the right decision. She was sure of it. And next Saturday, they’d eat fancy food and dance the night away, perhaps even to their song. For there was no doubt. Their relationship was already defined by Heart and Soul, in more ways than one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize if the bit about Varys seems insensitive or inaccurate at all. I honestly don’t know too much about those who dress in drag, but I wanted to incorporate book Varys’ penchant for disguises, and I thought it would fit his character well. Since his tastes run more feminine. He still identifies as male, and as asexual, but he likes to dress as a woman and perform now and then. It isn’t meant to be poking fun at those who dress in drag at all, so I hope it doesn’t come across that way. If it does, please let me know, so I can change the chapter, but I would really like to keep that aspect of his character.
> 
> Also, sorry for the longer wait than usual for the update. I've had a lot going on lately and it gets tough juggling 3 ongoing fics.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Petyr has a rough day at work. Tyrion stops in to bug him.

It wasn't until Monday morning that Petyr realized that he'd made a mistake. The charity event was for work, and it would be packed with Baratheons and Lannisters. Joffrey Baratheon would be there, along with his mother and father, his siblings, his grandfather, and his uncles. Sansa clearly hadn't realized this either, or he knew that she'd never have agreed to go.

He debated about not telling her for a brief moment, before almost immediately dismissing the idea. Had she been anyone else, he wouldn't have bothered with a warning, but he cared about her. This alone was a bit hard to get used to, after years of shutting his heart from the world, but he somehow didn't care. It was nice to want someone, and to be wanted in return, for a change.

Petyr got ready for the day, and before he left his apartment, he sent a quick text to Sansa: 'Hope you slept well. Give me a call when you get a chance, ok sweetling?' It was still quite early, and he didn't want to wake her up. He figured a text wouldn't be enough to disturb her sleep. Texts often startled him awake, but then, he was a light sleeper.

She didn't respond, so he left for his day job at Lion and Stag (ha, more like Lion and Sag, nowadays. Robert Baratheon wasn’t aging the most gracefully) Enterprises, choosing to drive to work rather than walk or take a cab, unlike most New Yorkers. He hated taxis, and as it was summer and a bit sweltering, and he was in a suit, he didn't want to walk. When he finally arrived at the historic building that housed Robert Baratheon and Tywin Lannister's company, delayed, of course, by the typical traffic, he was in a bit of a foul mood.

The building was known as the Red Keep, with old fashioned red brickwork that stood in stark contrast to the more modern buildings surrounding it, but the charms of historical architecture were mostly lost on him. He wasn't one to hold onto the past, more in favor of progress than sticking to the outdated ideals and traditions that so many clung to. That included anything that belonged to the years before he was born (he wasn't immune to nostalgia, after all). Of course there were a few exceptions, notably in music, and film. And not everything new was better. But he wasn't one to glorify the past.

Sansa called him just after he'd stepped into his office, and he found himself smiling just from hearing her voice, his foul mood already dissipating. 

“Everything okay?” she asked.

“Yes and no.” Petyr sighed. “Sweetling, you do know the charity event is for my work, right?”

Sansa was quiet for a moment as she worked out the implications, and his emotions took another turn. It was strange how easily she could affect him. A word, a glance, a touch, and he was a complete mess, flying along one track or another with surprising intensity. “Oh. I guess I hadn’t considered that.”

“If you want to back out, I completely understand,” he said, though in his mind he was calling himself a complete idiot for giving her an out. 

More silence. Then, “No,” she said firmly. “No, I want to come. It’s just going to be hard, is all. With Joffrey around. And his entire family.” She sighed. “Give me a bit to think about it, ok? I’ll let you know by tonight.”

“Alright. You have a good day,” Petyr said, completely hating himself. Why had he asked her to go with him? Or rather, why did he work for the Baratheons and Lannisters? Now there was a loaded question…

“You too. Bye.” Sansa sounded reluctant, but the line went dead regardless.

Petyr set his phone on his desk and put his head in his hands. He really needed to get a grip. She was just a girl. No need for him to turn his life upside down, to lose himself completely. He’d done that before, and it hadn’t exactly turned out well. To put it mildly. To hinge so much on whether she’d go to the charity event with him was ludicrous. It wasn’t as if he couldn’t ask her out again, take her for a nice dinner, even take her dancing afterwards. He was being stupid.

Unfortunately, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t put it out of his mind. Work was absolutely insufferable, though it would have been even if he hadn’t been so hung up on Sansa Stark, since Joffrey had actually decided to come into work today. The brat and his Uncle Tyrion had gotten into a spat in the middle of a board meeting, throwing the entire office off kilter and into a major funk, as Tywin Lannister took his rage out on his employees and Robert Baratheon got drunk. Petyr ended up shutting himself in his office and working well past dinner, only stopping when Tyrion paid him a visit.

“Do I detect a few more grey hairs than usual?” Tyrion asked, coming in unannounced and hopping up on one of the chairs situated in front of his desk. The youngest Lannister had been born with dwarfism, though he didn’t let the physical handicap slow him down, even if his own father was less than favorable to him because of it.

“What do you want?” Petyr said, not looking up from his work.

“Cersei’s on another power trip, and has ordered me to go around and confirm everyone’s attendance for LASE’s charity event this weekend. Everyone who hasn’t already done so with that fancy cardstock, anyway.” Tyrion took a healthy swig from the glass of wine in his hand. He was another in the firm who often overindulged in drink, and though you’d think his short stature meant that he couldn’t hold his liquor as well as others, years of practice said otherwise.

“And you’re here why? I’ve already confirmed,” Petyr replied, frowning at his computer screen. The numbers were starting to blur before his eyes, and he suddenly realized that though it was past dinner, he hadn’t eaten lunch.

“Hiding from my sweet sister, what else?” Tyrion said dryly. 

Petyr couldn’t blame Tyrion there. Cersei might have been beautiful, but she lacked in nearly everything else. She wasn’t stupid, far from it, but she had an overwhelmingly high opinion of herself, and often over extended her reach, with disastrous results. Not to mention, she was needlessly cruel, particularly towards Tyrion and anyone who dared get in her way, or that of her children’s. “You could just go home, you know. Work officially ended an hour ago,” Petyr told him.

“True, but I couldn’t bug you there, could I? Incidentally, who are you taking?” Tyrion grinned at him over the rim of his wine glass. “One of the girls from your club?”

Petyr raised his eyebrows. “Even if I was, that would hardly be worthy of your contempt or ridicule, all things considering.”

Tyrion held up his hands. “Hey, I was just curious. You know my fondness for your club. And its employees. Well, one in particular, as of late.” 

Petyr didn’t say anything, still trying to focus on his work. He well knew Tyrion’s affections for one of his newer hires, a woman named Shae, of Spanish descent. Tyrion was a frequent patron of The Mockingbird, and Shae had caught his eye almost immediately, enough so that Tyrion had wormed her schedule out of Petyr, so that he might be able to stop by whenever she was working. Petyr hadn’t minded. The more Tyrion visited his establishment, the more money lined his pockets. He briefly wondered if Tyrion was bringing Shae to the charity event before deciding he didn’t care. Though he found out, anyway, as Tyrion prattled on, not caring if Petyr was busy, or if he had any interest in talking.

“I’m bringing her, by the way,” Tyrion added. “Tywin’s a bit pissed, as you can imagine.” He sounded almost gleeful about that, but then he’d never gotten on well with his father.

Petyr gave up trying to work, and shut down his computer. “Sorry, but I’m heading out. You’ll have to find somewhere else to hide.”

Tyrion got up and followed him out of his office. “You’re in a bit of a mood,” he commented. “Usually you’re far more apt to banter.”

“Just hungry, I guess. I missed lunch,” Petyr said, walking to the elevators. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Yes. Hopefully my nephew won’t get the urge to work again tomorrow,” Tyrion said, frowning. “You couldn’t try and lure him into your club tonight, could you?” he asked hopefully.

“Oh, I’m sure he’ll come of his own accord. He’s there most nights as it is,” Petyr said, stepping into the elevator.

Before Tyrion could reply, the doors closed, and Petyr was once again alone with his thoughts. Which wasn’t exactly a pleasant place to be at the moment. Usually he got on quite well with his inner monologue, but today he wished he could throttle himself. Perhaps he’d have a drink tonight. Or four. Really, he’d forgotten how hard it was to care for someone again. It almost made him want to forget about the whole thing. Almost.

No, really, who was he kidding? It wasn’t almost. Not even close. Sansa Stark was worth every moment of agony. If she hadn’t been, then he wouldn’t have been so bothered about all of this. Especially considering that her decision not to go to the charity event didn’t mean that they wouldn’t go out on a date somewhere else. All of this worrying was completely ridiculous and unnecessary. That realization didn’t help matters any, though, since his brain continued to pick at it like a scab, one that would result in a another scar if he didn’t leave well enough alone.

Petyr supposed he shouldn’t be so surprised at his behavior. He’d clearly reverted back to his teenager years, back to the moment that he’d first shut down his heart. The result of shielding himself from the pain meant that his heart was far younger than the rest of him when he finally gave it permission to start again. This could be both a blessing and a curse, all things considering, but he supposed he’d give in all the same. She was worth it. Oh yes, she was undeniably worth it….

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A shorter chapter, but I am planning on updating again on Saturday, so you won't have too long to wait for more :). Next chapter has got some good stuff, too ;).
> 
> <33333333


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa gets advice from Margaery, and calls Petyr

After her phone call with Petyr, Sansa had called Margaery, needing to talk to her best friend. They made arrangements for Margaery to come over once she'd finished work, and now they were holed up in Sansa's room, Margaery sprawled out on her bed, while Sansa sat in the chair by her vanity table. Sansa had just relayed to her friend the problem at hand, and Margaery looked a bit gobsmacked at all of the information she'd just been flooded with.

"So wait, you like Petyr? As in _my_ Uncle Petyr?"

Sansa groaned. "Yes, but that's not exactly the issue here."

Margaery laughed. "Sorry, it's just a lot to take in. But you know, I guess I can't blame you there. I've always thought he was pretty good looking."

"He's your uncle!" Sansa said, raising her eyebrows at her friend in disbelief.

"Not by blood," Margaery said. Then she brightened. "If it works out, and you two get married, we'll be related! We'll be like sisters!"

"Technically, I'd be your aunt," Sansa said, grinning at her friend.

Margaery frowned. "Ooh, that'd be weird."

"Believe me, that would be the least weird thing about our relationship," Sansa assured her, before telling her friend of Petyr's past with her mother. She left out the bit about Lysa though. That was far too personal, and it didn't feel right to tell Margaery about how he once loved her mother, let alone what Lysa had done. But she needed someone to talk to about it, and she figured that since Margaery was Petyr's family anyway, he wouldn't mind too much if she confided in her friend.

“Talk about baggage…” Margaery blew out a breath of air. “Gods, I never knew. I mean, I’d wondered before why he was still single, but I just figured he was one of those perpetual bachelor types. I never would have imagined he’d fallen in love with someone, only to nearly be killed by her fiance, let alone that the people involved would be your parents.”

Sansa sighed. “Yeah, I was shocked when I found out.” She paused. “But honestly, it doesn’t really bother me. I mean, if he was still in love with my mom, that would be one thing, but I’m certain that’s not the case. At least, I hope not….”

Margaery shook her head. “Nah, I don’t think you have anything to worry about on that front. It sounds like he got over her a long time ago, and then just decided he’d had enough of love and romance all together. That is, until he met you, of course.”

“Unless I’m just some poor substitute for what he couldn’t have all those years ago.” Sansa felt sick at the thought.

Margaery gave her a stern look. “Nope. Absolutely not. I can’t believe that’s the case. Especially since Olenna seems to have given the two of you her blessing. Olenna knows Petyr better than anyone, and if she thought he was still hung up on your mother, or only pursuing you because of that, she’d have stopped it long ago, rather than encouraging it.”

Sansa could see the sense in her friend’s words, and started to feel a bit better. “Ok,” she said, nodding her head.

“Now, back to the problem at hand. Personally, I think you should go. Sure, it will be rough, but really, what better way to have your very first encounter with your ex and his family than wearing a stunning evening dress and on the arm of a very eligible bachelor,” Margaery reasoned. “Plus, if you say you’ll go, then we get to go dress shopping!”

Sansa couldn’t help but absorb some of Margaery’s excitement, and grinned. “True.” She bit her lip and thought it over, before giving a determined nod. “Ok. Yeah, I’ll do it.”

Margaery jumped to her feet. “Excellent! Operation dress is a go!”

“What, now?” Sansa asked, as Margaery hopped over to her and grabbed her hand, pulling her to her feet.

“Yes, now. It’s this Saturday, right?” Margaery scooped up their purses and tugged Sansa out of her room. “We have to find the perfect dress, get shoes, figure out your makeup and hair for that night. And by the time we’re done, my uncle won’t know what hit him.”

Olenna and Varys let Sansa have the night off, and she spent the evening shopping with Margaery until they found the perfect dress and shoes, rounding off their night with dinner at one of their favorite restaurants. Sansa enjoyed spending time with her friend again, regretting the fact that they hadn’t had much time together since she’d moved out. She’d been so used to seeing Margaery every day, along with Loras, that it was difficult to suddenly have to make an effort to spend time together, rather than just going home and popping her head into Margaery’s room.

Margaery pestered her with all of the details of her budding relationship with Petyr, and Sansa happily obliged, leaving very little out save for his past with Lysa. It was so great to get another perspective on the matter, and talking with Margaery only made her more confident in her decision to give him a chance.

When she finally got back home, it was late, nearly nine o’clock, and after she put away her purchases, she suddenly realized that she had forgotten to tell Petyr that she’d made a decision. Hoping that he hadn’t been too anxious by her silence, she curled onto her ratty old armchair and pressed the call button next to his name, listening to it ring before he finally picked up.

“Hello?” The word sounded a bit slurred, and Sansa raised her eyebrows, to the benefit of no one.

“Hey, you busy?” she asked, straining to hear him over what sounded like club music.

“Sorry, just a sec.” There was a lot of noise on the other end, music combined with people calling out to one another in a drunken stupor, but the assault didn’t last long. “That’s better,” he said, sighing. He didn’t seem to be slurring his words anymore, and she wondered if she had just imagined it, or if the call had been somewhat distorted.

“Are you at your club?” It seemed the logical explanation. He didn’t seem the type to go clubbing.

“Yes. I was working on paperwork, but then a fight broke out on the floor, and I had to go smooth things over with a patron,” Petyr replied, sighing again. “Think I’ll go home now, though. Today has been fraying my nerves.” Sansa could hear him moving around, and assumed he was heading for his car.

“What happened?” She wanted to comfort him, if she could.

Petyr was silent for a moment before he answered. “Joffrey showed up to work today. And then at The Mockingbird tonight. And made a scene in both establishments.”

Sansa hadn’t been expecting that. “So the fight…” she trailed off, not feeling the need to finish the sentence.

“Yes. A normal occurrence where he’s concerned, I’m afraid. He thinks he can get away with it because I work for his family. Which, in truth, he can. Somewhat anyway. At least Tywin and Robert compensate me heartily for my trouble.” The sounds of a car starting filled her ears and she knew he must be driving home.

“I’m sorry,” she said, for a lack of anything better to say.

“Don’t be. He’s not your responsibility anymore, sweetling. In truth, he never was. He’s an adult, and should be held responsible for his own actions. No one else. Not his parents, or his grandfather. And certainly not you,” Petyr said firmly.

Sansa smiled. “I know. But thank you for saying so.” Suddenly she wanted to see him again, no matter the late hour. “Are you going home?”

“Where else?” he asked wryly.

She laughed. “True.”

“Why?” He sounded curious now.

Sansa summoned up the nerve and just said it, spitting out the words rather quickly. “I was just wondering if you wanted to stop by. Hang out for a bit.”

“Ok,” he said, sounding surprised. “I’ll just make a turn here then. Shouldn’t be too long.”

“Just, um, text me when you’re here. Both Olenna and Varys are already shut up in their rooms, and I’d rather not alert them to your presence,” she said, standing up and heading over to her vanity table.

“Will do. See you in a bit.”

Sansa hung up and quickly ran a brush through her hair, and touched up her makeup, before giving her outfit a once over. Black jean shorts and a lacy green tank top. Yeah, ok, that’ll work. Not too casual, but comfortable. Her legs and underarms had been shaved that morning, so she wasn’t worried about that. But as for her room…

She spent a bit tidying up, quickly folding and putting away the clean laundry that still sat in a basket by her bed, and grabbing a dirty bra from where it hung on her closet doorknob and tossing it into the hamper. Luckily she was a fairly neat person. The bathroom looked decent as well, though she changed the hand towels and threw away the nearly depleted hand soap and replaced it with a new one.

When she’d finished, she had just enough time to check her reflection again before Petyr’s text came through, and she quietly crept out of her room to go let him in. She felt once more like a teenager sneaking around behind her parents’ back, but it couldn’t be helped. Alerting Varys and Olenna to his presence would only be unnecessarily awkward and if she could avoid it, she would.

Sansa unlocked the front door and opened it, giving him a wide smile as she took in his slightly disheveled appearance. “You look a bit worse for wear,” she said, ushering him inside and closing the door, before locking it once more.

“Thanks,” he said, his smile softening his sarcastic tone.

Sansa smirked at him and beckoned him to follow her. Petyr glanced around her room with a studied gaze, taking in her collection of books and films, her well worn and well loved cushy armchair, the photographs she’d hung on the walls of family and friends, and her vanity table, packed with makeup and hair care products. “Nice room,” he said, turning back to her. “Incidentally, you look lovely.”

Sansa fought back a blush. “Thank you.”

He smiled at her and then wandered over to her book shelves, perusing the titles. “So, what did you have in mind?”

“Hmm?” she asked, too busy staring at him. Normally he was so perfectly put together, but today he looked adorably rumpled, his tie loosened, shirt somewhat untucked, and his hair a bit wild, with far more stubble than usual lining his cheeks.

Petyr turned back to her. “Movie? Conversation? Interdimensional space travel?”

Sansa laughed at that. “Have you got a TARDIS hidden away somewhere or something?”

“Hmm, sadly no. But I’m sure I could come up with some way to manage it,” he said, turning back to her books. “Quite a few Doctor Who novels here. Mostly featuring David Tennant.”

“Well, he’s my favorite,” she said, moving to stand next to him.

“Mine too, though it’s not saying much, considering I’ve barely seen any of the eleventh or beyond.”

“I thought you didn’t generally watch tv?” Sansa asked, raising her eyebrows.

“I don’t. But I was fascinated by Doctor Who as a boy. I’ve seen all of the classic episodes, and up through the first few episodes of the eleventh doctor. Been too busy to keep up though, lately.” He reached up and pulled one of the books from the shelf. “Douglas Adams’ Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy. Good choice,” he said appreciatively.

As if he couldn’t be any more perfect. “You’ve read it then?”

“Yes.” Petyr turned to look at her. “So, did you have a plan in mind, or was inviting me over kind of a spur of the moment thing?”

“The latter,” she admitted. “But we could watch something. Your pick.”

Petyr began searching through her DVD collection. “My pick, huh?” He ran a finger along the spines of the cases, stopping and pulling one out. “This’ll do.”

Sansa took it, and smiled. “You like Grosse Pointe Blank?”

“It’s a good film. Of course, I don’t have a lot to choose from here, considering you mainly have romantic comedies.” He drifted over to her bed and sat down, bouncing slightly on the mattress. “This can’t be too comfortable.”

She put the movie in and grabbed the remote before heading over to sit next to him. “It’s old. From my bed growing up. I can’t really afford a new one at the moment.” As she spoke, she scooted back on the bed until she was leaning against the headboard.

Petyr watched her progress, smirking when she patted the space next to her. “Just a moment, I’ll take off my shoes first,” he promised, leaning down to undo the laces before toeing them off. Then he got up and circled around the bed, sitting up by the headboard and swinging his legs up. “I think you need a couch in here.”

“Not really enough room,” she said, hitting play, and shifting to try and get comfortable.

The bed was facing the wrong way from the television, so she had to turn her head to the side to watch the movie. Usually she just watched tv from her armchair, or laying sideways on her bed, but with Petyr there she’d had to improvise. Unfortunately, their current positions were quite uncomfortable and inconvenient, and they both kept moving around, trying to find a better way to sit, until Petyr chuckled and grabbed the remote, pausing the movie.

“I’m just going to lay down. If you want, you can join me.” He shifted until he was laying on his back, his head at her waist, propped on one of her pillows.

Sansa grinned down at him, then followed his example, her face inches from his as she stared into his eyes. “But how are we going to watch the movie now?”

“Like this,” Petyr said, turning onto his side and wrapping an arm around her, tugging her close so that her back was to him, and they were spooning.

Now she could see the movie a lot better, and she was a lot more comfortable, but his close proximity was making her pulse flutter, and she was certain that it was quick enough that it might soar away if it had wings. His body was warm and hard against her own, one arm curled around her waist, his head tucked into the curve of her neck, and she started to throb at her apex, enjoying the feel of his legs pressed against her butt.

Unintentionally (oh who was she kidding?) she wriggled against him, and she could feel his cock twitch behind her, feel his warmth breath against the shell of her ear. His breath hitched, and then he leaned down and pressed a kiss to her cheek. Sansa slowly turned in his arms as he continued trailing kisses along her cheek, until their mouths finally met. It started slow, and quickly built, until soon their tongues were battling and she had her legs wrapped around his waist, his hard length brushing exquisitely against her throbbing sex.

Petyr’s mouth had just left hers to suck and tug at her earlobe, when sense overtook her once more and she stiffened underneath him. He noticed and pulled away, staring down at her with eyes clouded by lust. “Something wrong?”

Sansa reached up, running a hand through his hair, biting her lip in thought. Why was part of her always warring with the other? She wasn’t a virgin any longer, far from it considering she’d been living with Joffrey. And she wanted to, oh gods did she want to. But part of her felt that this was moving way too fast. That it would be better to wait. At least until they’d gone on a proper date.

“I’m just…. I feel so conflicted when it comes to you,” she confessed finally. “So many emotions, with such incredible force, and I’m afraid that some emotions in particular are making things move a lot faster that I would otherwise want.”

He chuckled, and she felt the vibrations rumble through his chest where it was pressed against hers. “We haven’t done much more than make-out, but I get your point. You want to wait until we’ve gone on a few dates first?”

Sansa nodded, and he was still so close that her nose brushed against his. He smirked at her for a moment before pressing another kiss to her lips. “Ok.”

“Ok?” She wasn’t expecting it to be that easy. Joffrey had always been quite persistent when it came to sex. Eventually she’d given in for fear of losing him, and now that she’d realized his true nature, she regretted making that choice. And perhaps that was why she was so hesitant now. She needed to get to know Petyr better first.

“You sound surprised.” Petyr frowned down at her. “You think so little of me?”

Sansa shook her head. “No, it isn’t that. I guess I’m not used to men agreeing so easily.”

His frown deepened. “Meaning Joffrey.” It wasn’t a question. He sighed. “Oh, sweetling, what I wouldn’t give for you not to have had your heart broken by that bastard. And anyone else that pressured you into anything you weren’t ready for.”

She suddenly felt very brittle, as that realization crashed over her. Petyr was right. She was so conditioned to think a certain way, to expect certain treatment, that it had only just occurred to her now that that wasn’t the way it was supposed to be. It wasn’t so shocking, that he wouldn’t force her, or at least pester her or make her feel guilty for wanting to wait. Petyr’s reaction was perfectly normal, not an oddity to be gawked at, taken aback by, or praised. It was as it should be, and somehow, after years with Joffrey, she’d forgotten that.

Petyr was looking a bit concerned, his face still so close to hers, and it wasn’t until he began gently kissing her cheeks, that she realized she was crying, and he was kissing each tear from her skin in hopes of soothing her. When he moved to kiss her forehead, she felt his stubble tickle her skin, and she giggled at the sensation, before pulling him back down so she could kiss his lips. They spent quite some time after that, lost in languid kisses, until they finally drifted off to sleep, still entwined in each other’s arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <333333333333


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Petyr wakes up late for work but decides it’s worth it.

Petyr woke Tuesday morning with his vision full of fire, his body far warmer than he was used to, and thought for a moment that he’d somehow set his bed aflame, only to wake up roasting in his own barbecue. Thankfully, the reality was far more pleasant. Sansa was curled in his arms, her back to his chest, and his face had been buried in her hair as they’d slept. He was just grateful he hadn’t eaten any of it in his sleep. Far apart from not wanting to hack up a hairball, he didn’t have any wish to destroy even a few strands of those flame-kissed waves.

She still seemed to be asleep, breaths even and calm, a cute little whistle sounding every once in awhile that told him she was slightly congested. Her butt was tucked into his lap, and he cursed the fact that those of his sex often woke up in a state of full arousal. Sansa’s close proximity wasn’t helping matters either. This last thought brought him back to last night, and what he had learned of her relationship with Joffrey. Petyr felt sick thinking about how she had suffered through years with that prick, innocently believing that nothing was wrong with the way he’d treated her. She was a smart girl, he knew that, but sometimes love blinded you to what you’d otherwise know with perfect clarity. 

He’d come across a quote once, from a tv show no less, that summed up the situation that so many had gone through before: ‘When you’re looking through rose colored glasses, those red flags just look like flags’. Love skewed the perception like nothing else, and he and Sansa would be far from its last victims.

Realizing that he’d better check the time, and make sure he wasn’t late for work, he reluctantly and carefully extricated his arm from where it was slung about her waist, releasing the hand that clung to his. To his relief, she didn’t wake, and he dug into his pocket and found his phone, hitting a button so that he could see the time. After nine. Fuck. He was late. And Varys and Olenna were sure to be awake. And home. Varys didn’t work until mid afternoon, and Olenna was retired.

Petyr suppressed a groan. He really didn’t want to leave. Not only did he have Sansa curled next to him, but he also wasn’t entirely sure he could get up. Her mattress was truly terrible, and his body was already paying for it. If he was going to be habitually staying over, he’d have to find a new one for her. Either that or he’d convince her that his place was better for overnight stays. How she managed to sleep comfortably on it was only the mystery of youth, he supposed. 

He was debating about just saying screw it and going back to sleep, when Sansa stirred in his arms, stretching lightly and letting out the most adorable, soft squeal as she yawned. Petyr stuffed his phone back into his pocket and slipped his arms back around her, pulling her close and dropping a kiss on her cheek. She hummed contentedly and wriggled closer, pulling his arms tighter around her.

“Good morning,” he said softly, his breath tickling her ear and bringing a smile to her lips.

Sansa’s eyes drifted closed again. “Morning,” she murmured. “Did you sleep well?”

“As well as can be expected on this mattress. It really is atrocious, sweetling.” He started peppering her skin with kisses, knowing that he needed to wake her up, so that he could be out the door soon. Robert wouldn’t care about his tardiness, but Tywin would, and Petyr was far more worried about the lion’s wrath than that of the stag.

“Mmm, sorry. Guess you won’t be spending the night again any time soon,” she teased, turning in his arms.

Petyr wished he’d popped an altoid from the container he always kept in his pocket, but he supposed her breath wouldn’t fair much better than his anyway. Morning breath made equals of them all. He kissed her anyway, and she smiled against his mouth for a moment before deepening it, touching her tongue to his. All thoughts of morning breath and work flew from his brain as he responded, losing every coherent part of his brain except for want and Sansa Stark. 

She curled against him, hooking one leg around his waist and dragging him closer, though in truth there wasn’t much farther to go, and he fought for some semblance of control in a losing battle, before relinquishing to her advances. Fuck work. Even if he wouldn’t be missing it for sex, it’d still be worth it. He was quickly learning that with Sansa, everything was worth it.

The kiss grew more fervent by the second, and soon she was loosening his tie and tossing it aside, smoothing his jacket from his shoulders (wow, had really slept in that? No wonder he was hot). Petyr didn’t stop to wonder why she’d suddenly changed her mind, but he wasn’t about to ask her, not when her fingers were fumbling blindly with the buttons of his dress shirt. Sansa finished the last button and he rolled off of his side until he was hovering over her, so that she could better ease off the fabric. When she’d removed it, he trailed his mouth down to her neck, sucking at her pulse point and sending those delicious shivers through her while he toyed with her breasts through her tank top.

Sansa moaned, running her hands along his back and chest, squirming underneath him as he moved lower, pulling aside her bra and shirt to take a pert nipple in his mouth. Petyr lavished attention on the swollen bud for a moment, before moving to the other, only stilling when he heard his traitorous phone ring. He cursed and reached into his pocket, silencing the ringer before tossing it onto the bedside table.

But it was too late. She had seen the time. And the name of the person calling. When he moved to kiss her again she shook her head, and he sighed. “I don’t care if I get reprimanded at work, sweetling.”

Sansa rolled her eyes. “You will if you get fired,” she insisted, pushing him off.

Petyr sighed again and rose from the bed, snatching his shirt, tie, and suit jacket from where they lay puddled on the floor. “It would have been worth it,” he said truthfully.

She shook her head, but she was smiling, still stretched out on the bed as she watched him get dressed. Sadly, she’d fixed her top so that she was fully covered again, but she still looked sexy lying there, hair tousled from sleep, as untamed as the fire it reminded him of. He finished dressing and then put on his shoes, before grabbing a hairbrush from her vanity and running it through his hair. For the moment, he only wanted to look presentable. He’d stop at home and shower and change before heading in to work.

When he was ready, she got up and slipped into his arms, giving him another kiss. “By the way, I forgot to mention that I’ve decided to go to the charity event with you.”

He pulled away, surprised. “Really?”

Sansa nodded. “Bought a dress and everything. I meant to tell you sooner, but I was out with Margaery, and then I got a bit distracted when you came over.”

Petyr grinned at her. “No problem. Though if we didn’t want Olenna and Varys to know I slept over, we might have an entirely different one.” 

“True.” She kissed him again. “I’ll go out and check. Maybe they decided to sleep in for once, and you can still sneak out.”

She left, and he checked his reflection in the mirror again, straightening his tie. Unfortunately, when she came back, he could tell the news wasn’t good, even before she spoke. “Well, we’re out of luck,” she told him. “I guess we’ll just have to suffer the consequences. Though considering you get to leave and I don’t, that hardly seems fair,” she added, pouting.

Petyr pulled her close again and gave her another long, lingering kiss. “I’m sorry, sweetling. I’ll make it up to you. I promise.” He grinned and gestured at her bed. “Maybe a new mattress.”

Sansa laughed. “It’s not that bad.”

“It is,” he assured her. “But we’ll talk about it later. Since someone insisted that I make it to work, it would be better if I got moving.”

She grinned then started towards the door, looking nervous. Petyr followed her out, and schooled his features into a pleasant mask, already throwing up barriers against the biting commentary that was sure to sprout from Varys’ mouth. His brother and Olenna were seated at the kitchen table, eating scrambled eggs that Petyr was certain Olenna had prepared, and both looked more than a little amused when they noticed that Sansa wasn’t alone. However, when Varys opened his mouth to speak, the table shook as Olenna kicked him, and Varys decided not to try his luck.

Petyr stopped next to Sansa, who was wringing her hands in agitation as she waited for the fallout, but Olenna just said “Good morning,” and went back to her breakfast.

He knew that Olenna wasn’t keeping silent for his case, but rather Sansa’s. Olenna seemed to have a soft spot for her, and she clearly didn’t want to make her any more uncomfortable than she already was. That aside, he bet he’d be getting a phone call from Olenna later, admonishing him for corrupting Sansa and staying the night when they barely knew each other. His adopted mother may have been more progressive than most, but she still thought people needed to know each other at least a bit before they jumped into bed with one another. And that sentiment was likely only heightened by the protectiveness she felt for Sansa.

Petyr thought it best not to say anything, in case Varys lost his self restraint, walking straight to the door and opening it. Sansa followed him out into the hall, cheeks flushed and warm to the touch when he leaned in and kissed her. She sighed into his mouth and kissed him back, mouth sweet and gentle for a few seconds before she stepped away, looking even more flustered. 

“You should go,” she said, toying with his tie. He’d just fixed it, but he didn’t mind. Not when it was her.

He stole another kiss, then turned away, before he pressed her against the door and took her, right there in the hallway, instead jabbing the button to summon the elevator. The doors opened almost immediately, and though he didn’t want to leave, he was grateful. His resolve was already tenuous at best, and if he didn’t get away from Sansa soon, he’d never make it to work. He stepped inside and pressed the button for the ground floor, smiling at her as the doors closed. “Have a good day, sweetling.”

Sansa gave him a shy little wave and returned his smile. “You too.”

When the doors were closed and the elevator began its descent, he sagged against the wall in relief. His self control had never been so weak as it was around Sansa. Petyr had a feeling that she might be his downfall one day, whether in this life, or in some other parallel universe, and couldn’t say he minded that in the slightest. She was worth it, and he’d enjoy every moment until that day came.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know you all were looking forward to Varys and Olenna’s commentary but I like to think Olenna would want to spare Sansa of the embarrassment. So hopefully you won't mind that I omitted that :).
> 
> Also, curious... When would you prefer I update? Like, what days? Saturday seems to be a good bet, but I try to update at least twice a week, when I can.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Olenna talks to Sansa, and Sansa spends more time with Petyr once they’re both done with work

Sansa was still a bit mortified over having to reveal to Varys and Olenna that Petyr had slept over, but thankfully neither of them had even bothered to mention it, even as the day dragged on. She wasn’t sure why she had been granted this reprieve, but she wasn’t about to bring it up herself. Instead, she calmly went about her day as if nothing unusual had happened, taking care of the household chores while Olenna read out on the terrace and Varys watched some boring documentary on the history of the Byzantine empire.

Her thoughts kept straying to Petyr as she worked, bringing a smile to her lips that never seemed to falter, only growing wider with each moment. She was quickly falling for him, and now that she’d decided not to fight it any longer, that fact no longer stressed her out. There would be complications, for sure, notably if their relationship progressed far enough that she’d need to introduce him to her family, but she’d deal with them when and if it came to that. Although something told her that there wasn’t any doubt concerning their future. Every beat of her heart confirmed that.

When Varys left for work, Sansa helped Olenna through her exercises, slowly and carefully increasing the older woman’s mobility using the techniques she’d been taught in school. Olenna complained through it all, but did as Sansa asked regardless, and only when they’d finished did the topic turn to the one they’d been avoiding all day.

“I can’t say I’m surprised, considering the night I walked in on you two on the couch,” Olenna began, wiping the sweat from her brow. “But I hope he’s not pressuring you into anything you’re not ready for. You haven’t been single for that long, chickadee, and neither of you are free from emotional baggage.”

“He’s not,” Sansa answered honestly. “He’s been very respectful so far.” She felt the need to continue further, and added, “Nothing happened last night. We just fell asleep while watching a movie.” That wasn’t completely true, but she wasn’t about to go into details.

Olenna gave her a searching look, then nodded. “Alright. As long as you’re both happy, I have no objection to the match. But don’t let him get away with his snark. If he steps over the line, you let him know it, or you come to me.”

Sansa smiled at the older woman, grateful. The offer wouldn’t be necessary, but she appreciated it all the same. Petyr wasn’t anything like Joffrey, and she felt comfortable enough around him to be straightforward, letting him know if he overstepped his bounds. And, just as importantly, he seemed receptive to feedback, careful not to go against her wishes. “Thank you, you’re very kind,” she said, helping Olenna get to her feet.

Olenna patted her arm before heading off to get a shower, and Sansa wandered into the kitchen to figure out what to make for dinner. She perused the contents of the fridge, and had just thought about making spaghetti, when she heard her phone beep from her pocket. Earlier, she’d texted Petyr, wishing him luck in dealing with his boss’ wrath, and it seemed he’d finally found a moment to reply. She decided to wait a bit before dealing with dinner, and made her way back to her room, flopping onto her bed on her stomach so she could reply.

Petyr: Still have a job ;)

Sansa: Now who’s using smileys?

Petyr: I think we passed the boundaries of professional propriety awhile ago, sweetling.

She laughed at that, her mind remembering in great detail just how far they’d breached those boundaries. Not far enough though, in truth.

Sansa: Fair enough.

Sansa: So was it horrible?

Petyr: No

Petyr: But if I had said yes, would you have tried to make me feel better?

Sansa: No :P

Petyr: Ouch. Considering it was your fault, I would have expected a bit more sympathy.

Sansa: You said it wasn’t. And if I remember right, I’m the only reason you didn’t skip work completely.

Petyr: As well as the reason I wanted to skip work in the first place.

Petyr: I was thinking...

Petyr: The charity event is a poor choice for a first date. Considering how stressful it might end up being for you.

Sansa: So you’re changing your mind?

Petyr: Let me finish :P

Petyr: Do you want to do something tonight?

Sansa: Hmm…

Sansa: Maybe

Sansa: What did you have in mind?

Petyr: Nothing too extravagant. Dinner. Your pick. And go from there.

Sansa: I’d have to check with Olenna first.

Sansa: Since I’m supposed to cook her dinner most nights.

Sansa: But ok.

Petyr: I already talked to her. She said it’s fine.

Sansa: :P

Sansa: When?

Petyr: When she called me earlier to chew me out.

Sansa: Seriously?

Petyr: She seems very protective of you. It wasn’t unexpected.

Sansa: But she just basically gave me her blessing earlier…

Petyr: She’s just looking out for you. And she likes to give me a good scolding every now and then. It’s how she shows she cares.

Sansa: Alright, if you say so :P

Sansa: When?

Petyr: I’m just wrapping up here. Pick you up in a half hour?

Petyr: Longer if you need it.

Sansa rolled off of the bed and gave herself a once over in the mirror. She’d showered after Petyr had left, paying particular attention to her hair and makeup in case he’d decided to stop by again unannounced. Her outfit was cute, but in half an hour she could find something better if she wished.

Sansa: Half an hour’s fine.

Petyr: See you soon.

She spent the next twenty minutes rummaging through her wardrobe before finally settling on black jean shorts and a silky dark purple shirt that was simple and clingy in all the right places. Before Petyr arrived, Sansa checked on Olenna, who assured her that she would be fine on her own for the evening. Varys would be bringing them home something from one of his favorite haunts, and if she didn’t like it, she knew her way around the kitchen. With two minutes to go, Sansa hovered by the front door, jumping slightly when she heard him knock.

Her nerves fluttering far more than she thought was strictly necessary, Sansa opened the door, smiling as she took in his appearance. “I see you went home and changed.”

Petyr smirked at her. “Second time today, actually. Ready to go?”

Sansa followed him out to the elevator, admiring how he still looked so good, even dressed more casually in dark jeans and an untucked black button down, the sleeves rolled up slightly to reveal surprisingly nice looking forearms, muscles long and lean. When the doors closed and the elevator began to move, she couldn’t help twisting her hands, a nervous habit she’d developed as a child that she’d never managed to break.

He reached out with one hand, gently halting their movements as he turned to face her, eyes and smile open and friendly. “Where did you want to eat tonight?”

In spite of the fact that it was him that was making her so nervous, his kind tone and manner went a long way towards soothing her. “I’m not sure. Somewhere quiet, I think. Private.” She suddenly realized how much she had needed a break from other people. Olenna and Varys were nice, and she liked them well enough, especially Olenna, but it felt really nice to get out of the apartment, to spend time with Petyr somewhere they couldn’t be interrupted.

Petyr lifted his mouth in a smirk. “Hmm, well, we could always go back to my place, get takeout. Can’t get much more private than that.”

“Ok,” she agreed, eager to get a better glimpse into his life. One’s home usually afforded great insight into their personality.

He briefly looked surprised by her answer, before smirking at her again. The elevator doors opened, and Petyr led her over to his car, a sleek looking jag that gleamed, even in the dim lighting of the carport. Playing the gentleman, he opened her door for her and helped her inside, before sliding into the driver’s seat. The interior was draped in the softest leather, the seat practically molding to her body as he started the car and they pulled out into traffic.

As expected, it was more than a little hassle to drive through the streets of New York, but luckily Petyr didn’t live too far from Varys. His building was just as upscale as Varys’, if not more so, and Sansa would be lying if she said her eyes hadn’t bugged slightly when they rode the elevator all the way up to the penthouse. The apartment spanned the entire top floor, packed with more rooms than one man would know what to do with, and to her surprise, none of the rooms really gave her any indication that someone lived there full time. He took her on a brief tour, showing her through the kitchen, several bathrooms and bedrooms (including his, though it looked almost as unused as the rest), a library, a dining room, two living rooms, and a home office. Of all the rooms, the office was the only one that gave her any insight into his life, and it wasn’t much.

When they’d ended the tour in his kitchen, Petyr pouring himself a glass of whiskey, she couldn’t quite hide her disappointment, and of course he noticed, even interpreting her look correctly. “I haven’t much had the time to really make this place more of a home, so I’m afraid it won’t tell you much about my character. But if there’s anything you want to know, you’re always welcome to ask.”

Sansa smiled at him, leaning against the counter with her arms crossed. “Perhaps later,” she mused. “After we figure out dinner.”

“And what do you want?” he asked, leaning dangerously close as he set his glass on the counter next to her.

She stared at his lips for a moment, distracted, before coming back to herself. “Hmm?”

“To eat,” he clarified, still so close. Close enough that she could smell the mint and whiskey on his breath.

She wondered how that might taste for a second, before he took advantage of her obvious lack of focus and kissed her. It really wasn’t all bad, mint and whiskey mingled together, though perhaps on any other person’s tongue she might have said differently. All thoughts of food were quickly forgotten as his lips moved against hers, and suddenly she had an entirely different hunger rumbling through her body. A far more insistent hunger, one that demanded immediate satiation, immediate _satisfaction_ , and she knew nothing else but that she needed to give in to those demands.

That throb steadily built in her veins, concentrated in her groin, spurring her further and further, until Petyr lifted her onto the counter, their mouths never parting for an instant, and she wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him closer. Sansa idly wished she’d decided to wear a skirt, as the bulge forming under his jeans pressed against her sex, but no matter, soon she imagined her shorts would be long gone anyway, and for once there would be no interruptions to halt their attentions. Her tongue danced with his, lips joining the fray with exquisite presses that sent tingles down her spine, through her limbs and to her core, and all the while she only craved more, her hands roaming every inch of his body that she could reach.

When his mouth left hers to trail along her jaw, she let out of whimper of protest before he began to suck and tug at her earlobe, sending delicious shivers radiating through her at the point of contact. Sansa moaned as his attentions repeated the sensation much lower on her neck, his hands slipping under her shirt as he nipped at her pulse point. He broke away enough to pull her shirt over her head, before trailing kisses down to her breasts, teasing her through her lacy bra. Nimble hands released the catch, and the bra dropped to the counter as he bent to take her nipple in his mouth. She arched her head back, groaning as he teased one breast with his lips and tongue, and the other with palm and fingers, quickly driving her closer to the edge than she thought possible.

As he worked, his free hand snaked in between them, brushing against her sex through her shorts, and when her hips bucked against his hand, he began to stroke her through the fabric. She was getting close, squirming under his attentions, and when he suddenly removed his hand and plunged it under the waistbands of her shorts and underwear, cupping her bare sex, it sent her over the edge. That sinful chill coursed through her entire body and she trembled and cried out his name, her exaltation echoing around the vast kitchen’s cold walls nearly in time with the shocks wracking her body. Over and over. Again and again. Petyr! Petyr! Petyr! Petyr!

Feeling much like putty in his hands, Sansa slumped forward against his chest as he stood up straight once more, her face buried in his neck. Petyr’s arms went around her waist, and instinctively she locked her legs around his waist, arms curling around his neck as he lifted her up off of the counter and carried her into his bedroom. He set her down on the edge of his bed, staring down at her with eyes that screamed of hunger, before she pulled him close again, locking her lips with his.

They settled down in the middle of his bed, his body draped across hers as their mouths moved frantically. Sansa made quick work of the buttons on his shirt, and he shrugged it off with some hesitance, the rare uncertainty of his movements reminding her suddenly of the memento of his past that snaked across his chest. She never broke their kiss as her hands explored, easily finding the ridges of the scar, even without her eyes to guide them. Though she wanted to see it (this morning she’d barely gotten a glimpse), she didn’t want to ruin the moment by gawking at it without meaning to, making him feel even more vulnerable about it than before.

Instead, she explored him blindly, learning every inch of his torso with touch rather than sight, hands steadily moving south until she reached his waist. She undid his jeans, sliding them down until he could kick them off, his shoes thudding to the floor first with two loud thumps that startled her. Petyr felt her flinch at the noise and chuckled, his bare chest settling against hers and making her nipples harden at the vibration and the sensation of skin against skin. Sansa kissed him harder, whimpering in discontent when his mouth left hers, traveling lower, lower, lower still, until he reached the waistband of her shorts. He pulled them down, taking her underwear with them, his mouth following their descent until it reached her sex.

His breath was warm against her skin, tickling the sensitive flesh, and for a moment he just hovered there, only moving when she groaned in frustration, bucking her hips up. Petyr’s eyes met hers before his mouth quirked in a wicked smirk, and he kissed her folds, running his tongue along her swollen skin. Sansa’s hands shot down to grip the back of his head, driving him closer as his tongue circled her clit, and he kept up his ministrations until she shattered once more, hips jerking wildly against his mouth.

Still reeling from her second orgasm, she felt him drop kisses back up her body, and smiled when his mouth met hers again. Sansa reached between them to palm his erection through his boxers, before she tugged them down and finally they were both completely bare. She stroked along his length a few times before positioning him at her entrance, so ready to feel him hard inside of her, ready to join with him in the most intimate of ways.

Petyr froze above her and pulled away enough to speak, voice breathless: “Wait.”

Sansa stared up at him brow furrowed before she realized what had given him pause. “It’s alright. I’ve got an implant in my arm,” she assured him. “So we’re covered.”

He let out a relieved laugh and kissed her again, his cock sliding along her slick folds as they moved against each other, building back the heat that had slightly dissipated from worrying about contraception. She rocked against him, kissing him back with fierce intensity until he suddenly plunged into her, making her cry out from the thrill that had coursed through her. Petyr groaned into her mouth, and built a steady pace, stopping only to hitch her legs over his arms as he drove into her. Her hands scrabbled along the sinews of his back and her back arched, her hips undulating in sync with his.

This was raw and tender all at once, a glorious mess of contradictions as her blood sung in her veins, crackling with energy as her muscles tightened, every nerve alight with with feeling. It had never been like this before, not ever, and she was mumbling as she bit into his shoulder, words incoherent except for one. Her teeth wrought a bruise into his skin that she was certain might spell out his name from the way her mouth kept forming the word, and still they kept moving, bodies chasing same release.

And then it hit, like a bolt of lightning, zigzagging through every nerve, pinging along through every every vein until she was lit from within, her own light blinding her as she shone. Petyr kept thrusting, carrying her through until she felt him pulse inside of her, and he called out her name, voice raspy and strained. His arms shook and he dropped down into her welcoming embrace, spent. Sansa kissed his sweaty brow, working her mouth down to his, the press slow and sensual before she broke away, allowing them both to catch their breaths.

As their hearts settled back to normal, Sansa swore they beat in time, and she couldn’t help but be reminded of Heart and Soul again. How she’d heard it when they’d first laid eyes on one another. How, ever since then the tune had intrinsically linked with his name, with their every interaction. How they’d sung together in the kitchen, their knives chopping in rhythm.

She’d never felt like this before. What she’d had with Joffrey seemed pale and limp in comparison, a wriggling larvae rather than a butterfly, drifting along the breeze on freshly painted wings. Joffrey had been a dream, one of those that seemed so wonderful at first, until you dug a little deeper and realized the nightmare tinged underneath. Until you woke up and realized it was never real. None of it. Not even the good parts.

But with Petyr, everything seemed so real. It was terrifying and wonderful, and so achingly real that she wondered if maybe she’d been sleeping through her whole life, only to finally wake up and experience things as they were meant to be. Sansa was overwhelmed, drunk on the feelings clouding her senses, and yet she wanted more, wanted everything. Everything he had to offer.

It was far too soon to feel this way, but there it was, clear as day, writ in both her heart and her soul. The song hadn’t lied. It had settled deep into her bones for a reason, tying them both together with its catchy melody. Sansa had fallen for him, the way a fool would do, madly, and she was certain she wasn’t alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of comforting fluff and smut for you all <3\. I most likely will update Monday too, since we all know Sunday is going to be awful (I've decided not to watch it. Just can't deal).


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Afterglow, Doctor Who, and fortune cookies

Oh, what a beautiful descent into madness. They hadn’t even managed to eat dinner yet, and here they were, sprawled in bed and panting, skin slick with sweat. Petyr eased himself off of Sansa and turned on his back, one arm pulling her close. She came willingly, draping herself across his chest and legs, her cheek resting over his heart, one delicate finger tracing his massive scar. 

Normally he might have flinched away, but not tonight, not when it was her. The ugly remnant of his past no longer hurt, but the bitter reminders it always brought still made him feel far more vulnerable than he would have liked. He didn’t mind tonight though. Every second with Sansa further dulled those memories, taking the sting away. And anyway, around her, being vulnerable no longer seemed so repellant. It was almost welcome, strangely enough.

Petyr was steadily realizing that he’d reached the point of no return with Sansa. He’d ignored all of the warning signs that had flashed in his cynical brain, telling him not to get attached, that he’d wind up falling for her, that she’d probably destroy him just as her mother had, all those years ago. His heart had egged him anyway, far less sensible than his brain, and he’d been a fool and let it. He knew he was lost, lost to a feeling he’d been repressing for decades. It was there, hovering in the back of his mind, begging to be acknowledged but he pushed it aside for the moment. Far too soon, for that sort of declaration, even only in his thoughts.

Sansa sighed softly and he raised his head to see her studying his face, her bottom lip caught between her teeth. He smiled and slid his arm up her side to her bent elbow, silently urging her to move her body up closer to the head of the bed. She complied, her lips curving into a smile as he kissed her, and for a moment all other thoughts fled from his head but for the feel of her soft lips, the hints of lemon and mint on her tongue.

When she pulled away, his head was spinning, so strong was her pull on him that he felt he’d been drowning only to come up for air at the last moment. “Not that I’m not enjoying myself, but I’m finding it hard to ignore the hunger pangs at the moment,” she said, sounding fairly dazed herself.

“What were you thinking?” Petyr asked, mind still far away from the sort of hunger that craved for food.

“Hmm, chinese?”

“Sure.” He reluctantly slipped out of the bed and redressed, unashamedly admiring Sansa’s curves as she did the same.

They returned to the living room and settled on one of the nearby Chinese restaurants that delivered, ordering their choices by phone. When Petyr hung up, he turned to find Sansa flicking through the Amazon Prime app on his tv. She quickly found what she wanted and pulled up the first episode featuring the Tenth Doctor in Doctor Who, before giving him a grin. “Thought we could catch you up. I know you’ve seen most of David Tennant’s episodes already, but seeing as he’s both of our favorites, I figured you wouldn’t mind.”

Petyr chuckled and slid in next to her on the couch. “What happened to picking my brain?”

Sansa raised her eyebrows. “That will come later,” she assured him. “Right now I’m suffering from decreased mental acuity due to lack of food.”

“Fair enough. Though whether that’s really from the lack of food remains to be seen,” he teased.

She gave him a look of mock affrontation. “Insinuating that your date isn’t smart isn’t the best way to get in her good graces.”

He shook his head, smiling at her playfulness. “I meant that maybe your mind is clouded for entirely different reasons than hunger, sweetling.”

“Well, someone thinks quite highly of himself,” Sansa replied archly, smirking at him in a way that nearly stole his breath away.

Petyr smirked back. “Am I wrong?”

That earned him a blush, a positively delightful reddening of the pale skin of her cheeks. Her eyes darted away from him in a sudden burst of shyness that he found absolutely charming, and when she spoke her voice was soft, hesitant. “No.”

Clearly she was still fighting some insecurities from the disaster with Joffrey, so he decided just to lay it all out for her, showing complete honesty where he normally might have held back. “That makes two of us then. Perhaps it will pass, the longer we know each other. Or perhaps it won’t. I can’t say I’d mind losing my mental facilities so long as you were the cause.”

The shyness still lingering on her features softened, and she shifted closer, her blue eyes deepening into oceans with fathomless depths. Petyr couldn’t help but kiss her again, and suddenly there they were again, making out on a couch like schoolchildren, but this time there was no family to interrupt.

Until the chinese delivery person knocked, of course. The sound startled them both, and they pulled away from each other, blinking slightly from confusion and the sudden intrusion of light on their eyes. He found he wasn’t in any state to answer the door, and instead grabbed his wallet from his pocket and handed it to Sansa. She gave him a cheeky grin and skipped out of the room to pay for the food while he fought to compose himself.

By the time she had returned, Petyr had stepped into the kitchen to get plates and drinks. He hadn’t asked her what she wanted but he knew she liked lemon water, and luckily he had lemons on hand. Sansa found him there, squeezing a freshly cut lemon wedge over a glass of ice water, and her smile brightened her whole face when she saw what he was doing.

She set the bag of takeout on the counter and wandered over, gently nudging him with her arm. “You didn’t need to do that,” she said softly. “I like my water plain as well.”

Petyr shrugged and gave his own water glass the same treatment before garnishing both with another lemon wedge apiece. “I know, but I figured since I had the lemons, might as well make use of them.” He didn’t mention how he’d bought them the other day, solely with her in mind. No need to come on that strongly. Not yet.

“Where did you want to eat?” Sansa picked up one of the glasses and took a sip before surveying him over the rim.

“The living room is fine, if you still have your heart set on Doctor Who.”

She nodded and reached for the other glass. Petyr snatched up the plates and the bag of takeout and followed her back into the living room. They spread out the containers on the coffee table and served themselves, sampling from their own selections as well as the other’s, and then settled in to watch the show. He was amused that Sansa had also chosen to get lemon chicken, though he couldn’t fault her choice when he tried it-it really was delicious. They both wished they’d thought to get more of that day’s chef’s creation, pork and vegetable dumplings, when they tried them, and though he could have eaten the whole container on his own (they were that good), he feigned fullness in order to let her have the last one. Anything to see her smile.

When they’d finished, they broke open their fortune cookies, and Petyr was amused to see that his suggested he try something new and take dancing lessons. Sansa snatched his fortune from his fingers and laughed. “Too late, cookie,” she said, tossing it onto the table. 

“Hey, I’d like to keep that,” he protested, leaning forward and rescuing it from where it had drifted dangerously close to the remnants of sweet and sour sauce on Sansa’s plate. “It isn’t often you find a fortune that actually rings true, even if it has already come to pass. Not to mention, it’s almost as if the cookie is urging us to be together.”

She smirked at him. “Do you often take the advice of cookies?”

“Only when they impart such great wisdom as this.” Petyr smirked back at her.

“Hmm, except the cookie wasn’t exactly right though, was it?”

“How so?” he asked, surreptitiously glancing at the fortune curled up in her fingers. She’d looked so amused when she read it, and he was dying to know what it said.

“No need to pretend any longer, Mr. Baelish. You can’t have learned to dance so well in just one night. Even if you were a natural,” Sansa said, eyes dancing with mirth.

Petyr chuckled. “Alright, you’ve caught me. But I hardly think such a small deception warrants returning to such formality, even in an attempt to needle me.”

Her lips pouted. “Then what do you suggest? You shouldn’t have lied to me.” Suddenly her voice lost its lilt, and he knew she was genuinely bothered by the tiny lie, even as she fought to hide it.

He stopped smiling. “I’m sorry. Truly. It wasn’t meant to hurt you. I just wanted an excuse to spend time with you, and when the opportunity presented itself…” He’d rarely been so honest, so open with another person. But he couldn’t help but be that way with Sansa. She drew out the best in him, made him want to do anything just to make her happy. Even reveal things he’d rather leave unsaid. “It won’t happen again.”

“Good.” She smiled, and it made the strain on his heart worth it. Her hands twisted in her lap for a moment and then she continued. “I suspected it that day, honestly, and I really thought I was okay with it, but then I brought it up and suddenly I wasn’t. I guess I’m still struggling with trust issues after everything that happened with Joffrey.”

“I know. And that’s completely understandable, sweetling. I promise that I won’t give you any further reason to doubt me.” Petyr moved closer on the couch and palmed her cheek, trailing his thumb across her soft lips. They parted under his touch then joined again to kiss the pad of his thumb, before curving in that heart stopping smile.

And then they were kissing again, and he wondered if he’d ever be able to stop. Her mouth was so sweet against his, the bitter lemon she loved so much still so tangible on her tongue, and he thought he’d never want to taste anything else. Petyr loved the sounds he drew from her lips as he nipped at her earlobe, as his mouth wandered lower to suckle at her breasts, each nipple budding instantly under his ministrations. 

Sansa’s hands stroked his cock through his jeans before fumbling blindly with his zipper. She pulled away from him and slid to the floor, tugging his pants and boxers down his hips and he could only watch with glazed eyes as she took him in hand. Her lips wrapped around the head of his length as her hand circled its base, and he swore, weaving one hand into her hair as she worked. “Fuck, sweetling.”

She hummed in approval and continued, sucking and swirling her tongue along his sensitive flesh and he had to concentrate not to let his hips buck, determined not to interrupt her attentions by pushing too far. Petyr dropped his head back and released a moan, one hand clenching on the couch as the other tightened in her hair, before he raised his head again with effort, needing to see her, craving eye contact with this gorgeous vixen that had found her way into his life. Her eyes met his and darkened and she almost seemed to smirk up at him, even with his cock between her lips, and he nearly lost it right there.

“Stop,” he gasped, reaching with both hands to grip her shoulders.

Sansa released him with an audible pop and rose to her feet. He sat up and quickly undid her shorts, pushing them down to the floor along with her underwear. She stepped free of the fabric and straddled his lap, kissing him again as her folds brushed against him. Petyr could feel how wet she was, and marveled at how it was all for him, how somehow she wanted him, craved him, as much as he wanted her. It was a dizzying thought, an altogether foreign concept to him that he wasn’t sure he’d ever get used to. He was no stranger to a woman’s lust, but this seemed different. It seemed like so much more.

She rubbed against him a few times before raising her hips and sinking down, her heat encasing him in the most glorious inferno, blazing and slick and perfectly tight. Petyr brought his hands to her hips, planting his feet on the floor to gain leverage, and as she began to move, he helped spur the tempo on, faster and faster. Their mouths moved hungrily, teeth nipping at lips, tongues clashing, even as their bodies gyrated, up and down, up and down, over and over and over again.

Sansa was getting close, he could feel it, her walls fluttering around him, and he reached between them to rub her clit, giving her that final push, knowing he was close to the end himself. The movements of her body grew more frantic and she ground against him, her mouth leaving his as she chased freedom. Petyr stared up at her, watching the sweat beading on her brow, admiring how beautiful she looked with her face all red and scrunched up, in pleasure and concentration. He kept thrusting up into her, kept rubbing her nub, even as his gaze never left her face, intent as he was to see the moment bliss overtook her.

When she finally trembled and cried out, he’d never heard anything sweeter as his name falling from her lips, had never seen anything more enchanting than her face screwed up in ecstasy. And it was this knowledge that sent him spiraling after her, the rush even more powerful than the first time they’d made love. 

And that’s what this was. It wasn’t sex. It was more. Far more. Petyr hadn’t wanted to admit it yet, even to himself, but there it was. He loved her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hugs for my fellow shippers and Petyr fans <3\. Hopefully this will take some of the sting out of it.
> 
> A heads up, the charity event isn't until chapter 18, but hopefully it will be worth the wait.
> 
> Love you all <3333


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa and Olenna talk about her burgeoning relationship with Petyr. Varys reveals some juicy gossip.

Sansa wound up staying overnight at Petyr’s apartment, and though she’d had to wake up earlier than usual, since he had to get up for work, she didn’t mind in the slightest. Which was an odd feeling indeed, since normally she rebelled with everything she had against getting up any earlier than she had to. She had loved waking up in his arms once again, and she couldn’t deny that his bed was far more comfortable than hers. Perhaps she’d take him up on his offer of a new mattress. Or simply stay here as often as possible. Now that she knew what she was missing in terms of sleep quality. No other reason, of course.

They’d spent the rest of the evening alternating between sex and Doctor Who, and she couldn’t imagine a better way to pass the time. Petyr almost reminded her of the tenth Doctor, in a way, that same energy, a similar build, great hair. Wickedly smart too, and endearingly frustrating. Not to mention she had a major crush on both of them, swept away by their irresistible charms. Of course, with Petyr it bordered well beyond a crush, but she tried to pretend otherwise, at least to him if not in her own mind. No need to get ahead of herself and scare him off, in case she was wrong about his feelings. They’d only just started dating. It was too soon for such declarations.

Though it was hard not to say anything, caught up in the throes of passion. He’d had her practically screaming his name more than a few times, last night, and she was grateful that he lived in the penthouse, all alone on the top floor. Otherwise the neighbors surely would have complained. Sound mostly carried upwards, right? She hoped so. Forget the embarrassment, she’d feel bad if she found out she’d kept anyone awake last night. Not that that would keep her from being with him again, as many times as he’d have her. Because, oh gods was it good. Better than she ever could have imagined.

Sansa wondered if it was just because she liked Petyr so much, or if he really was that good, or if Joffrey had really been that awful. Or maybe all three. Probably all three. Regardless, she was now certain that Joffrey had zero finesse in the bedroom. Partially because he’d never bothered to see to her needs, too focused on his own pleasure, and partially because he was usually stoned or drunk, or both. Either way she’d never felt satisfied afterwards with him, and now she knew why more than ever. It wasn’t anything wrong with her (something she’d frequently worried about). Far from it.

She hadn’t wanted to go back home, but she wasn’t about to play hooky or encourage Petyr to do so, so he dropped her off on his way to work, walking her up to the door and kissing her goodbye like a proper gentleman from the movies. It was so sweet and so right, and she’d nearly pulled him inside for another go before finding her self restraint once more.

Olenna was already up, cooking breakfast, while Varys sat at the table reading the newspaper, nursing a cup of coffee. Sansa darted past them as quickly as she could without looking ridiculous, avoiding Varys’ raised eyebrows from over the metro section. She hastily showered and got dressed, braiding her wet hair rather than drying it, in hopes of saving time and not garnering frustration from her employers over starting the day later than usual. 

When she came out of her room, she found that Varys had already departed for the day, though Olenna was waiting for her with a plate of french toast and a knowing look. Sansa thanked her and doused her food with maple syrup before tucking in, studiously avoiding Olenna’s gaze, hoping the older woman wouldn’t pry. It didn’t work.

“I see the date went well last night,” Olenna said, patting Right on the head as he lept into Varys’ vacated chair and butted against her.

Sansa swallowed a bit of french toast and glanced up to see Olenna’s eyes sparkling. Either she was enjoying making Sansa uncomfortable, or she was happy to hear they were getting along well. She suspected it was both. “Yes,” she said cautiously, reaching for her glass of orange juice.

“Are you still going to the charity event with him?”

She nodded. “Margaery helped me pick out a dress.” 

“You’ve thought this through though? You know where he works, who will be there.” Olenna looked concerned as she spoke, and Sansa was touched that Olenna truly seemed to care about her wellbeing.

Sansa toyed with her fork a bit before answering. “Yes.” She paused. “I won’t lie, I am nervous, but I want to go. And what better way for Joffrey to see me again for the first time, than dressed in an evening gown with a handsome man on my arm.”

“Or my son,” Olenna japed

Sansa smiled at that. “Oh, he’s quite suitable for the job, I assure you.”

Olenna’s gaze softened. “You really like him, don’t you?”

“I do.” Sansa felt herself grinning and couldn’t seem to stop.

“I’m glad. I wish the two of you all the best. Lord knows you both deserve to find happiness.” Olenna got to her feet and took Sansa’s empty plate away, heading back into the kitchen.

Sansa followed her, grabbing her juice glass and placing it in the dishwasher. Olenna watched as Sansa added the detergent and set the wash cycle, before turning to the dirty pans resting in the sink. “I’ll take care of this,” Sansa assured her. “You go on and enjoy your morning. We’ll get to your therapy after we have lunch.”

The rest of the morning passed by quickly enough, as Sansa took care of the household chores and Olenna indulged in her favorite soaps. The older woman found the plotlines ridiculous but enjoyed mocking them and betting with Sansa over who would die next, or turn out to have an evil twin, or get murdered after being caught having an affair. Sansa didn’t ever take her up on the bets, since Olenna was uncannily good at predicting what might happen, and she didn’t want to waste her money. 

After lunch, Sansa helped Olenna through her exercises and finished folding the laundry before heading out to the store to stock up. When she came back, laden down with groceries and unable to open the door, she called out for help, hoping Olenna would hear her. To her surprise, Petyr answered instead, and when he saw her struggling, he immediately relieved her of her burden, bringing the bags straight into the kitchen. Olenna watched in amusement as they passed, shaking her head as she reached for her book again.

“Couldn’t stay away, huh?” Sansa asked, helping him unload the groceries.

“Olenna called me over. Said she needed someone to take a look at her computer.” Petyr began stacking cans in one of the cupboards, organizing them neatly according to contents.

“Uh huh.”

“You can ask her. Though I couldn’t find anything wrong with it. Other than the fact that the date was wrong.” He pulled the packages of raw meat from the grocery bags and bent to slip them into the fridge.

Sansa chewed her lip thoughtfully, wondering at the older woman’s motivations. Perhaps she just wanted to see the both of them together, to analyze their actions and feelings herself. “Weird.”

“I thought so too, but hell, it gave me an excuse to see you again, so I didn’t really mind.” Petyr stuffed all of the empty plastic bags into one and tossed the lot into the trash, before reaching out and taking her hand, tugging her close.

Her pulse skittered as she practically melted in his embrace, body going pliable as his lips met hers. Oh gods, she loved how he kissed her. How he always, unfailingly tasted like mint. How the slightest brush sent tingles down her spine. How time seemed to stop, just for them, as though their every touch gave them unfathomable power over the rest of the world.

Sansa raked her fingers through his hair, drawing closer as his tongue touched hers, forgetting entirely that Olenna was just in the other room. Though not for long, when the woman herself came into the kitchen and harrumphed.

They broke away from each other, and Sansa flushed as she noticed how dazed Petyr looked, how she’d ruffled his hair and sent his tie askew in just a few minutes. Olenna was standing in front of them with her arms crossed, looking amused and frustrated. “You’re blocking the fridge,” she pointed out. “I would like something to drink.”

Sansa was amazed at how quickly Petyr seemed to compose himself, turning towards the fridge and opening the door. “Cranberry juice?” he asked, reaching inside for the bottle.

“Yes.”

Petyr retrieved the bottle of Ocean Spray and uncapped it, pouring it into the glass Sansa snatched from the cupboard. Sansa handed Olenna her juice and watched nervously as she took a sip, seemingly content to just stand there and drink, while they suffered in the unbearable awkwardness of having been caught making out in the kitchen. 

The older woman took her time draining the glass, and Sansa had trouble meeting her eyes, or Petyr’s, as she waited for Olenna to finish and leave them alone to their embarrassment. Petyr pulled his phone from his pocket and fiddled with it, seemingly unperturbed, which really, Sansa thought was most unfair. Her own phone was back in her purse on the kitchen table, useless thing. She had the urge to flee from the kitchen, or swipe away his phone or kick him so that he would say something, do anything, to save her.

And then he spoke, as if he’d read her mind and wanted to be her knight in shining armor, even though he’d also been the villain to get her into this situation in the first place. “Varys messaged. He says we should turn on his show. That we might find it enlightening.”

Sansa frowned. “What? Why?”

“Don’t know. He’s being purposely vague, as usual. Only one way to find out.” Petyr slipped past her and Olenna and led the way out of the kitchen, to the radio set on a roll top desk tucked into the corner of the living room.

Olenna sank down in an armchair, though she usually preferred the couch, and Left immediately hopped into her lap, curling up and purring. Petyr fiddled with the radio for a moment, finding Varys’ station and adjusting the volume before bringing it over to the coffee table and taking a seat on the couch. Sansa joined him, suspecting that Olenna had planned it this way, and not minding in the slightest. She didn’t sit too closely though, too self conscious to show any more affection so openly. 

A commercial sounded through the speakers, promoting some sports drink, until it changed and suddenly they could hear Varys, clear as day, as though he was in the room with them. Sansa had never listened to his show before, and it seemed so strange, to actually know the person speaking on the radio.

“And we’re back, having just heard a delightful commercial for the latest flavor of Gatorade. Incidentally, my own nephew, Loras Tyrell, star baseball player for the New York Yankees, relies heavily on those vividly colored concoctions to sate his thirst and keep him ready for the big game. And when he’s not on the field, he’s busy stepping out with some of New York’s finest, including Renly Baratheon, an up and coming fashion designer with an extraordinary eye for color who has dressed some of this city’s most famous citizens. That’s straight from the Rose’s mouth, so to speak, as our Knight of Flowers has given me the inside scoop, ever the loyal and accomodating nephew. Loras and Renly have only been out twice, so only time will tell if happiness is written in their future, but I hope you all will join me in wishing them luck.

“Moving on, sources tell me that Joffrey Baratheon, son of high society’s Robert Baratheon and Cersei Lannister, has been in a bit of a downward spiral as of late. After a less than amicable split from his fiancee, his behavior has grown increasingly erratic. Rumors of his infidelity have always been rampant, and the boy could often be found in New York’s hottest club, The Mockingbird, cozying up to at least one vivacious beauty, but now it seems as though he never even bothers to leave the premises. There are talks that rehab might be in the young man’s not so distant future, as he continues to indulge in endless depravities. As for his ex, I only hope that she isn’t tempted back into his arms by this obvious cry for help. You can do far better, darling girl.”

Varys then turned to talking about how someone had spotted Bon Jovi lurking about an Applebee’s, of all places, and Petyr reached over and switched the radio off. Sansa twisted her hands in her lap, mulling over what she had just heard. She didn’t feel the slightest inclination to go back to Joffrey, even if she hadn’t met Petyr, but she still felt a small pang, knowing that he might actually be suffering from their breakup. Only a small one though. He didn’t deserve more than that. Or any sympathy, really. He’d brought it on himself, after all.

She was also surprised to hear that Loras was dating someone, and made a mental note to text him and Margaery soon, so that she might hear all of the details. 

Sansa was so wrapped up in her thoughts that she jumped slightly when Petyr reached over and placed his hand over hers, halting her movements. She looked up and smiled ruefully at him, her hands calming. It was such a nervous habit of hers, and she never really knew she was doing it, sometimes not stopping until she actually saw what she was doing. He looked worried, but relaxed slightly when she smiled. “I’m okay,” she said.

“Are you sure, chickadee?” Olenna asked. “I’m not sure what he was thinking, telling us to listen in. He could have simply told us about Loras, or waited for Loras to tell us on his own. And as for the prick of the century, well no one wants to hear about him. You’d think my son would have better sense than to mention him.”

“No, it’s fine. Really,” Sansa assured them, smiling as she spoke, to try and wear down the skepticism etched on their faces. “I thought Varys was quite tactful, over all. And it was nice to hear his concern for my well being. I haven’t really gotten the impression before that he likes me at all, so you know. It was nice.”

Petyr squeezed her hand. “If he’s crossed the line though, just say the word. Olenna’ll give him a good smack for you. And I can always find a way to feed him false gossip, if it pleases you.” 

He tossed her a wicked grin and she laughed. “Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked it! For those anxiously waiting for the charity gala, it's in chapter 18!


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Petyr and Sansa have a bone to pick with Varys. Petyr suffers through meetings at LASE.

Petyr wanted to smack Varys for gossiping about Joffrey Baratheon on his radio show, and for bringing it to his attention. And he wanted to smack himself for not realizing the dangers ahead of time, and blindsiding Sansa with news of her ex. He wasn’t sure whether Varys had known that Petyr was currently visiting with her and Olenna, or if he’d only intended for Petyr to listen in. Either way, he’d regretted turning on that damn radio, even though Sansa seemed to be handling it fairly well, all things considering.

It wasn’t like Varys to talk of family on his show, or family friends, and he’d done both today. Petyr suspected it had been a fairly slow news day and that he’d had to make do. Too bad the actual celebrities residing in New York hadn’t been embroiled in any major scandals lately, or Loras and Sansa might have been spared their mentions.

He stayed for dinner that night, had planned on doing so once Olenna had called him over, in fact, though he would have anyway, just to make sure Sansa was really ok. Olenna kept an annoyingly close eye on them as they cooked dinner together, though that didn’t stop Petyr from being affectionate with Sansa (rather, he increased his efforts in defiance, stopping just short of making Sansa overly embarrassed, which wasn’t worth it. Olenna rolled her eyes so many times that he expected she’d have terrible eye strain before the night was over). After they ate, Sansa pulled him over to the couch and put on Doctor Who again, and Olenna disappeared into her room.

Around seven, Varys got home, stopping short when he noticed them sitting together. He looked warily at them for a moment before closing the front door and heading over to pour his usual glass of sherry. Only when he’d taken a sip, did he turn to face them. “Did you happen to get my text earlier?” he asked.

Beside Petyr, Sansa stiffened, and he knew that despite the brave front she’d put up, she hadn’t entirely liked hearing that snippet of Varys’ show, better known as ‘The Web.’ “Yes,” Petyr replied, tone probably icier than the situation warranted. He couldn’t help it though. Sansa brought out the protective side of him.

Varys looked like he’d swallowed a lemon. “Sansa,” he began hesitantly. “I didn’t realize Petyr was visiting at the time. If I had known I would never have drawn your attention to my show.” He paused. “Really, I only meant to let Petyr know that I was promoting his club. I am terribly sorry if I caused you any distress.”

Petyr wanted to say something, but he kept quiet, sensing that it was best to let Sansa and Varys clear the air on their own. Normally he might have told Varys his thoughts without discretion, but he felt he wouldn’t be doing Sansa any favors to do so. She could handle herself, he was sure of it, and she wouldn’t appreciate him acting as if she couldn’t.

“No, it’s fine,” Sansa said, smiling warmly at Varys. “I’ll admit that it was a bit of a shock at the time, but I am grateful that you refrained from using my name. And I believe that you didn’t intend to upset me.”

Varys frowned. “I sometimes forget, in my line of work, that the people I speak of are more than the stories, that the gossip I trade in can do so much harm. In the future, I will make sure to ask your permission before referring to you on air, in any capacity.”

Sansa smiled again. “Thank you. I would appreciate that.” She reached over and took Petyr’s hand. “I imagine that after this Saturday, you’ll have quite a lot to talk about, concerning Joffrey and me. There’s sure to be some drama at LASE’s charity event. Feel free to badmouth my ex-fiance all you want, as long as you include how gorgeous my date and I look in comparison.”

Varys raised his eyebrows, then joined in as Petyr chuckled. Gods, she was perfect. He really did love her.

“After Saturday night, I am sure you two will be the talk of the town,” said Varys, raising his glass of sherry in a toast. “Be sure to tune in Saturday afternoon for the scoop.”

“Looking forward to it.” Sansa smirked at Petyr, suddenly so confident, and he couldn’t help but lean in and capture her lips in a kiss.

Varys groaned from across the room. “I suppose I’ll have to get used to frequent PDA in my home.” He sounded less than thrilled. “Why we had to hire a physical therapist you’d fall for, I’ll never know. Perhaps I should call Olenna in here to throw some cold water on the pair of you.”

To Petyr’s surprise, Sansa didn’t pull away, only kept kissing him, and when Varys let out a very audible, annoyed sigh, she slipped her arms around his neck. Petyr smirked against her mouth and pulled her closer. She knew exactly what she was doing. A bit of payback, just the way he liked it.

Only when they heard Varys head into the kitchen did Sansa pull away, eyes glinting wickedly. Without a word, she stood and tugged him to his feet, pulling him towards her bedroom. Oh, he could get used to this.

 

* * *

 

The rest of the week passed by in a bit of a blur. Unfortunately he didn’t get to spend as much time with Sansa as he would have liked, but really, unless he was around her 24/7, that wasn’t exactly possible. But when he couldn’t see her in person, they made up for it with texts and phone calls, and somehow or other they remained in contact throughout the day, through work and other obligations.

When Friday rolled around, Petyr was stuck in meetings all day at LASE, though he barely paid attention during most of them, too busy texting Sansa. Cersei was running the latest meeting, all in a tizzy about the charity event that she’d been planning for months. Tywin and Robert had both opted to skip out, though Petyr didn’t have much of a choice in the matter, being the CFO. Tyrion was there as well, and Jaime, Cersei’s twin brother, along with Cersei’s pride and joy, Joffrey.

The only one who was really paying attention was Jaime, and that was only because Cersei had sunk her claws into her brother before they’d even left the womb. Joffrey actually had headphones in, his face twisted in concentration as he played some game on his phone. And Tyrion was staring into his empty wineglass, clearly wishing he had a way to magically refill it.

Regardless of her inattentive audience, Cersei continued to drone on and on, talking about how she’d worked tirelessly on everything from the menu and the guest list, to the music and decor. Petyr had no clue why she’d called the meeting in the first place. Everything had long ago been set, the damn thing was tomorrow evening for pete’s sake (he’d always enjoyed that particular phrase). He assumed Cersei had just wanted to enjoy her moment of power as long as she could, milking it for all it was worth. She did love to hear herself talk, and he imagined she probably got herself all worked up at night from the power she thought she had.

Petyr mostly tuned her out, focusing instead on his phone. Whenever Sansa had found a spare moment today, she had texted him, and with the afternoon drawing to a close, she was now free as a bird.

Sansa: Shouldn’t you be working though? I feel like maybe I’ve been distracting you too much today.

Petyr: Never. And I am working. Sitting here listening to Cersei gloat about how the mayor RSVP’d. If he really shows up, I’ll eat my hat.

Sansa: You don’t have a hat.

Petyr: I do, actually.

Sansa: Liar

Sansa: But if he shows up, I’m holding you to that.

Petyr: He won’t

Sansa: What kind of hat is it? Something easily digestible I hope.

Petyr: What kind of hats are easily digestible?

Sansa: Uh

Sansa: One of those nacho hats you can get at sporting events

Petyr: That’s debatable.

Sansa: :P

Sansa: Also, one of those fruit hats you sometimes see.

Petyr: Sadly I have neither of those

Sansa: Too bad.

Sansa: Guess you’ll be too sick to do anything after the charity event tomorrow

Petyr: He’s not coming.

Sansa: We’ll see ;)

Petyr: Uh oh

Sansa: What??

Petyr: Perhaps it had better wait…

Sansa: Nope

Sansa: Spill it

Petyr: Joffrey’s bringing a date

Sansa: I assumed he would.

Sansa: Who?

Petyr: Myranda Royce

Sansa: Never heard of her

Petyr: Apparently she has “huge knockers”

Sansa: OMG

Sansa: Did he really just say that at a work meeting?

Petyr: Yes

Petyr: Among other things

Sansa: Like?

Petyr: Well it was more of a gesture really…

Sansa: ….

Petyr: He mimed motorboating.

Sansa: Oh gods. Why?

Sansa: I was engaged to him…

Petyr: We all make mistakes, sweetling.

Sansa: Some bigger than others.

Sansa: Whatever. I’ll just be thankful I saw the light before we were married.

Sansa: What did the others do?

Petyr: Nothing

Petyr: Tywin and Robert didn’t deign to attend this completely superfluous meeting.

Petyr: It’s just me and a bunch of Lannisters

Petyr: Course that’s usually the case

Sansa: Poor baby

Sansa: I can’t even imagine

Sansa: Well I can

Sansa: Why do you work there again?

Petyr: Couldn’t tell you.

Petyr: The money doesn’t hurt.

Petyr: Ah, fuck. Everyone’s looking at me.

Sansa: Rofl. You’re in the lion’s den now. Hope you’ve got a steak on you.

Petyr held back a laugh and tucked his phone back in his pocket. Unfortunately he didn’t really have any tender morsels to placate the lioness snarling at him at present. Though he knew she’d probably prefer wine anyway. “Sorry, can you repeat the question?”

Cersei scowled at him. “I was just asking you to confirm the financial projections for tomorrow evening.”

Petyr raised his eyebrows. “Like I did when we started this meeting?”

Cersei flushed. “Is there something wrong with wanting to be thorough?” she snapped, clearly flustered from her mistake.

“Nothing at all,” he replied smoothly, before going over the numbers.

It was so easy to trip her up sometimes. The meeting had gone so long, and Cersei had indeed gone over a few things several times over, though nothing to do with anything in finance. She was clearly nervous about pulling off what was supposed to be the biggest event of the season, and it was shaking her confidence. He’d seen an opening to turn his error back around on her, and he’d taken it.

Beside him, Tyrion was trying and failing to hold back a grin, always the cleverest of the Lannisters by far. When the meeting finally came to an end, Tyrion followed him back to his office, wasting no time in congratulating him on the small victory.

Petyr quickly shut down his computer and tidied up his desk while the youngest Lannister fondly recalled the exact shade of red his sister had turned. He was eager to leave and make it to Varys’ apartment, where a beautiful redhead awaited him, complete with a smirk and a sassy tongue.

“I’m curious though, what made such a deception necessary?” Tyrion asked. “You’re not usually so distracted during meetings.”

“Just working on stuff for The Mockingbird,” Petyr replied shortly, closing one of his desk drawers and heading to the door.

“Uh huh. Texting one of your employees then?”

“Yes.” Petyr made his way over to the elevators, inwardly groaning as Tyrion joined him for the trip down.

“Funny, I didn’t realize Sansa Stark worked at The Mockingbird. Unless someone else named Sansa works there, but really, it’s not a very common name, is it?” Tyrion grinned up at him impishly (in more ways than one. The little lion was sometimes referred to as the Imp, a nickname he’d acquired during his fraternity days).

Fuck. Apparently he’d been rather lax about keeping his phone screen from prying eyes. That really wasn’t like him. “Actually, Sansa does work for me, but not at The Mockingbird.”

“Oh? In what context?”

“She’s Olenna’s live in physical therapist.” Petyr felt his phone vibrate in his pocket, no doubt from a text from Sansa, asking whether he’d managed to escape the lion’s den unscathed.

“And your relationship with her is purely of a professional nature?” Tyrion inquired, mismatched eyes full of mischief.

Petyr rolled his eyes. “No.” Tyrion, and the rest of the Lannisters and Baratheons would find out soon enough anyway. “But I’ll thank you to hold your tongue for awhile.”

Tyrion suddenly looked as if Christmas had come early. “She’s your date tomorrow evening, isn’t she?” He rubbed his hands together in gleeful anticipation. “Oh, I can’t wait to see the look on their faces. It promises to be a most memorable night.”

“Indeed.”

“Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me,” Tyrion assured him as they stepped out of the elevator. “I wouldn’t want to spoil the surprise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is the charity event! I'll probably post it Saturday :)


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The much anticipated charity event has finally arrived!
> 
> I've included a link at the end of the chapter of the scene this chapter is loosely inspired from. Sansa's dress looks just like Daphne's as well :)

Saturday had finally come. Sansa woke up with butterflies in her stomach, her nerves all of a flutter as she tried to go about her day normally. The prospect of seeing Joffrey again, surrounded by his entire family, was more than a little intimidating. But she was determined to go and have a great time nonetheless. No more Baratheons _or_ Lannisters would be ruining her day, ever again.

Besides, she had a killer dress, and she couldn’t wait to see what Petyr thought of it. And it had been ages since she’d gotten all dolled up. Joffrey had never taken her to any company events, loathe to put on a suit for any occasion, and he’d never taken her anywhere particularly classy either. He’d mostly liked clubbing and going to some of the more brutal sporting events available, including MMA fights. Sansa wouldn’t miss having to pretend she enjoyed the carnage. Or the awkward family dinners she’d occasionally had to suffer through.

Gods, she really wasn’t looking forward to seeing Cersei again.

At first she’d looked up to Joffrey’s mother, had even wanted to be like Cersei, but slowly she came to realize that any affection Cersei showed towards her was merely an act. Cersei maintained a pleasant façade most of the time, but she was the queen of backhanded compliments and passive aggressive statements. In addition, Cersei could be very cold and controlling towards everyone but her three children, though she doted on Joffrey the most. And Sansa had learned fairly quickly that Cersei didn’t consider anyone good enough for her oldest son, least of all her. Whenever in Cersei’s presence, Sansa often wound up acting rather meek and subdued, as a means of self preservation.

Cersei had practically gloated in triumph when Sansa had called off the engagement, though that didn’t stop her from spreading several rumors that placed the blame on Sansa’s end. Because of course, while Cersei hadn’t wanted them together, she was less than thrilled that Sansa had been the one to end things. So she tried to spin things around for the media to make Sansa the villain, though not many truly believed Cersei’s tales.

By the time Sansa started getting ready, she was practically trembling, and it took several tries before she managed to finish putting on her makeup, since her hands were shaking so badly. Her stomach was roiling, the BLT she’d had for lunch disagreeing with her nerves, and she popped a few Tums before brushing her teeth, hoping she wouldn’t end up getting sick. They helped somewhat, and by 6:30, she was ready to go, her gorgeous new dress hugging her curves perfectly, the red shimmery fabric making her hair even more vivid as it tumbled around her shoulders.

She went out into the living room to wait for Petyr, smiling when she found Olenna and Varys waiting for her. “What do you think?” she asked, giving a little twirl.

“You look stunning, chickadee,” Olenna said, nodding in approval.

“Indeed. My brother is bound to have coronary when he sees you,” Varys added.

Sansa grinned. “Hopefully not. It would be a shame if I got all dressed up only to lose my date for the evening.”

“You could always take me along,” Olenna offered, eyes twinkling. “I’m sure I’d be much better company.”

The door opened and Petyr stepped into the room. “Always good to know when your own mother is trying to steal your date.”

Sansa’s breath caught. Oh gods, he looked good. His tux was perfectly tailored to his slim form, made of rich, dark fabric that brought out the silver in his temples, making him look even more irresistible than usual. Her eyes roved over his body, taking in every detail, as his eyes did the same over hers. The dark green of his tie highlighted the glints of emerald in his smoky eyes, and his silver cufflinks were shaped like mockingbirds. Her eyes drifted lower, and then widened. Between the fingers of his right hand was a single red rose.

“Well, aren’t you a vision,” he said, when he’d managed to find his voice again, clearly as struck by her appearance as she was by his.

The gravel in his voice nearly undid her, and her knees threatened to give out. Sansa let him come to her, taking his arm gratefully to steady herself. His touch almost immediately soothed her nerves about encountering Joffrey and his family again, and her shoulders dipped down as she relaxed.

Olenna insisted on taking pictures before they left, wielding an ancient camera with a blinding flash that left them both blinking stars out of their eyes. Varys took several with his phone too, noting aloud the unreliability of Olenna’s photographer skills, and earning himself a smack. Their antics helped ground Sansa even further, and by the time she settled into her seat in Petyr’s car, she felt much more confident about making it through the night.

They drove through the darkened city in companionable silence. Sansa still held the rose Petyr had brought for her, and she held it to her nose to get a whiff of its sweet scent. “I should have thought to put this in water, before we left,” she said, sad that the flower would likely wilt while trapped in the car, in the summer heat.

“You can always bring it inside,” Petyr said, flicking on the turn signal as they neared an intersection.

Sansa smiled. “I could. Though it might attract a few funny looks.”

“Hmm.” He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel but didn’t say anything more.

Sooner than she would have liked, they were there, and her heart leapt into her throat, its insistent throb nearly choking her. She stayed seated even after Petyr got out, trying to steel her resolve, to gain back the confidence that had suddenly flitted from her grasp. When he opened her car door, she started, gazing up at him with wide eyes and her bottom lip caught between her teeth.

Petyr didn’t say anything, just held out his hand for her to take, and as she took it, she felt her strength seep back into her veins. He closed the car door with a soft thump before running his knuckles against her cheek. “You really do look beautiful tonight, sweetling. Absolutely breathtaking.”

Sansa closed her eyes at the gentle contact, her pulse quickening from something other than nerves for once. She felt him take the rose that she still had clutched in her hands and smiled, before a small snapping noise reached her ears. Her eyes flew open and she saw that he had snapped the majority of the stem from the flower. “What are you doing?”

Petyr smirked at her and pulled something from his pocket that turned out to be one of those multi-tools, though his seemed far more expensive and packed with features than the ones she had seen her father and brothers use. He flicked out the knife and carefully carved the remaining thorns from the stem, then stepped forward and slipped the rose into her hair, into the intricate braidwork she’d woven along one side. Sansa felt him adjusting the bobby pins to better secure the flower, before he stepped back, surveying his handiwork.

He grinned. “Now you can take it with you.”

Her heart fluttered and she couldn’t help but return his grin. “Thank you.” She desperately wanted to kiss him then, but knew she’d only succeed in losing her lipstick. Instead, she reached out to trail her fingers along his lips and tried to tell him with her eyes what she intended to do to thank him later.

Petyr’s eyes darkened for a moment as he received her message, and he flashed her a smirk before holding out his arm. “Ready?”

Sansa nodded determinedly and slipped her arm into his. “As I’ll ever be.”

The ballroom was bustling with people, all dressed in their finest evening wear, with smiles both fake and genuine plastered on their faces. No one noticed them come in, save for a few photographers waiting by the entrance, snapping pictures of new arrivals. Sansa focused on taking steady breaths as they wove through the crowd, heading for their table.

Dinner wouldn’t be served until 7:30, though waiters were milling about with trays of hors’ d'oeuvres, and there was a fully stocked bar along one end. In the center of the room stood a dance floor, and some couples were already taking advantage of the space, swaying to the soft music. Tables surrounded the dance floor on three sides, with a stage on the fourth, topped with a podium and a live-band.

They found their table easily enough, spotting Petyr’s name next to Tyrion Lannister’s, of all people, though luckily Tyrion was the only Lannister among the other guests seated there. Petyr pulled out her chair for her, shaking his head as he sat down next to her. “I should have known.”

“About what?”

He gestured to Tyrion’s placecard. “Tyrion knew you’d be coming with me tonight.”

Sansa’s heart sank. “Oh.”

Petyr sighed and took her hand. “Don’t worry, he didn’t tell the others. I asked him not to.” He paused. “But I assume that’s why he’s seated with us. Ordinarily he would be with the rest of his family, but I’ll bet that he switched the placecards so that he could get a front row seat to the action, so to speak.”

“Well, that makes me feel better,” she said exasperatedly.

He frowned. “Tyrion is more tolerable than the rest of them. I’ll wager that the two of you never had any problems. Though I suppose that you don’t appreciate that he’ll take pleasure in whatever might happen, at least so long as Cersei and Joffrey are in the losing party tonight. Which they will be.”

Sansa sighed. “You can’t promise that.”

“No, but I will do my best to make sure you have a good time tonight. And we will leave whenever you want to.” Petyr took her hand and offered her a smile, and despite herself, despite the anxiety she was feeling, she melted at his touch.

It wasn’t long before Tyrion himself showed up, a gorgeous women with long, black curls tumbling down her back, by his side. Tyrion beamed when he saw them, hopping onto the chair next to Petyr, a glass of red wine clutched in his fist. “Sansa Stark, it’s a pleasure to see you again.”

Sansa smiled. “Likewise.”

Tyrion took a sip of wine and then smacked himself lightly on the forehead. “Oh, where are my manners? Sansa, this is Shae. Shae, this is Sansa Stark, my nephew’s ex-fiancee. And, of course, you already know Petyr.”

Shae smiled prettily at them. “Nice to meet you, Sansa. I’ll wager Petyr’s a decent improvement over Joffrey, considering what Tyrion’s told me.” Her voice was thick with a foreign accent, though she still enunciated her words clearly enough.

“Yes, definitely,” Sansa agreed, then paused, curious, and turned to Petyr. “But how do the two of you know each other.”

“Shae’s one of my employees, at The Mockingbird,” Petyr explained.

Shae nodded and nudged Tyrion. “That’s how the two of us met, in fact. This one never misses when I’m working.”

Sansa took that to mean that Shae must be one of the exotic dancers that The Mockingbird was famous for. She cast her gaze at Petyr, curious to see if he saw Shae as anything more than an employee, her heart lightening as she noticed nothing to support that theory. It was stupid, but she was suddenly feeling possessive, struck with the knowledge that he employed women as beautiful as Shae at his club, and regularly interacted with them.

Shae seemed to be very sweet, and Sansa fell easily into conversation with her as the other guests slowly made their way to their seats. They learned that the mayor had in fact chosen not to attend, sparing Petyr from having to make good on his wager (Sansa would have held him to it, eager to see how he’d manage to pull off eating a hat. She’d bet he’d have gone for one of those nacho hats after all). Tyrion and Petyr left them briefly to stop by the bar, returning with drinks for themselves and their dates. Sansa gratefully accepted the glass of white wine Petyr had brought for her, letting the alcohol bolster her courage. Before dinner was served, Tywin Lannister walked up to the podium and gave a speech, thanking his daughter for her hard work and dedication in planning the event, and encouraging people to make donations to the cause they were supporting that night.

After dinner, while they enjoyed their dessert, Tywin returned to the stage and introduced Doctor Pycelle, who had come to talk to them about the charity. The ancient looking man wheezed on about the importance of the new hospital they were hoping to build, which would cater to some of the lower income areas in the city. Sansa had to fight not to roll her eyes when the man said that if their goal was reached that night, they’d be sure to name the hospital after the most generous donor. Of course, that would most certainly be the Lannisters, though not out of the goodness of their hearts. They only sought recognition in their charitable acts, nothing more.

Tyrion held no such restraint, giving an undignified snort as he downed the last of his drink. Petyr’s face was inscrutable as he listened, though he gave her hand a squeeze when Tyrion snorted. Shae simply ignored Pycelle, focusing on her dessert, a decadent chocolate cake that really was quite good.

Once Pycelle finally grew tired of hearing himself talk, his babbling slowly trailing off, Tywin stood and ushered him off of the stage, before encouraging everyone to dance, reminding everyone once more of the donations they were hoping for. As Tywin went back to his seat, Sansa finally stopped resisting the urge to see where the rest of the Lannisters were seated, and watched him return to his family.

They were all there, save Tyrion. Cersei and Robert Baratheon (whose face was already ruddy with drink), with Cersei’s twin brother seated next to her, dateless as usual (Sansa wondered if Jaime might be gay. She’d never seen him so much as look at another woman, besides his sister). Joffrey was next to his father, looking thoroughly intoxicated, a curvy brunette coyly whispering in his ear. His siblings had even come, Myrcella and Tommen, both looking rather shy, particularly Tommen. Finally, there was Kevan Lannister, Tywin’s brother, who sat between Tommen, and his wife, whose name escaped Sansa at present.

As she watched, Joffrey and his date rose from the table, and disappeared somewhere in the vicinity of the bathrooms. It didn’t take a genius to tell what that meant, and Sansa silently thanked the girl for keeping him occupied. Hopefully they’d stay there for the remainder of the night, indulging in Joffrey’s favorite vices.

Curiosity satisfied, not a spark of jealousy in her breast concerning the girl Joffrey had come with, Sansa trained her gaze on the dance floor, watching as couples gravitated over, drawn by the increased volume of the music the band was playing. Just as she was wishing she might join them, she felt Petyr’s breath tickle the shell of her ear, as he asked her if she would like to dance.

“Of course. But are you sure you know how?” she teased, a little reminder of how he’d feigned ineptitude just so she would give him dancing lessons.

Petyr stood and held out his hand, his signature smirk quirking his lips. “I think I can manage.”

“We’ll see,” she mused.

He led her out onto the dance floor, and she fell easily, perfectly into his arms. Oh, she’d forgotten how well he could dance, especially now that he wasn’t holding back. They swayed to the music, drawer closer and closer until they were cheek to cheek, and Sansa knew she wouldn’t have missed this for the world. It felt so right, to be here in his arms, the music swelling around them. She could have stayed there forever, if fate would have allowed it.

But fate really wasn’t going to be entirely kind to her, tonight.

“Petyr, so glad to see you’ve managed to scrounge up a date for tonight. I must admit, I’d had my doubts.”

Sansa froze in Petyr’s arms as she heard Cersei’s unmistakable sneer. She knew that if she cared to look, Cersei’s lip would be curling, a mother cat baring her teeth, certain she’d found her prey.

“Have I ever gone unattended before?” Petyr asked, careful not to turn them in Cersei’s direction, still attempting to shield Sansa from her gaze.

“No, but I’d heard through the grapevine that your usual escort had found someone else. I suppose she got tired of waiting for you to make a commitment.”

Sansa frowned, wondering who Cersei was referring to.

“Come now, let’s see the girl you’ve manage to coerce into your arms for the night.” Cersei placed a hand on Sansa’s arm, making her skin crawl.

Petyr’s embrace tightened for a moment before he stepped back, clearly reluctant. Sansa forced her lips into a smile as she met Cersei’s gaze, watching as Cersei’s expression turned cold.

“Sansa Stark. Well I must say, this is wholly unexpected,” Cersei said, her lips thinning as she attempted to hold back her distaste. “Trading down, I see.”

Sansa narrowed her eyes. “Hardly.”

Cersei laughed at that. “And what would you call dating a man twice your age?”

“Where Petyr is concerned? Trading up,” Sansa fired back, feeling a rush of anger.

“Hmm, I think perhaps you’re the only one who sees it that way. But no matter. My son was right to be rid of you.” Cersei’s voice was laced with thinly veiled contempt.

Sansa raised her eyebrows. “Not that he had a choice in the matter, considering I dumped him.” She turned back to Petyr. “Let’s move to the other end of the dance floor. It’s a bit crowded on this end.”

Petyr gave Cersei a mock bow. “Always a pleasure, Mrs. Baratheon.”

When they were safely away from Cersei, separated by a mass of swaying bodies, he pulled her close again. “That was brilliant, sweetling,” he breathed, his nose brushing her hair as he whispered into her ear.

Sansa grinned and moved closer, turning her head until their lips met. She’d just owned Cersei, passed the trial of meeting with the woman who was once to be her mother-in-law, and she felt glorious with the rush it had given her. When he broke away she only kissed him again, not caring if anyone saw, not caring if anyone was scandalized by their behavior. He was the only one who mattered.

Her pulse was still pounding with exhilaration as they broke apart a second time, and when the music changed, she suddenly felt incredibly bold. “It’s the tango,” she said, voice breathless as she swayed her hips, shimmying closer. “Are you up for it?”

Petyr didn’t answer, instead spinning her in his arms so that her back was to his chest. Sansa leaned back against him as his arms traveled down her torso, hands gripping her hips as they moved in time to the music. She twirled in his arms again and they began to move, bodies working seamlessly together as if they were performing a routine they’d rehearsed for months. All around them, the dance space cleared, as people stopped and stared, in awe over the couple dancing the tango in their midst.

Sansa didn’t care that everyone was watching, didn’t mind the stares, didn’t notice anything besides Petyr, and the beat, the way both had seeped into her veins. She just danced, her body nearly moving of its own accord, perfectly in time with his, their movements stealing her breath away in more ways than one. As the song came to an end, she found herself pressed up against his chest, one leg in the air caught in his waiting hand, the slit of her dress riding up.

Applause thundered in her ears, but she hardly heard it as she slowly, delicately lowered her leg, and caught his face between her hands, kissing him with all she had. Petyr held her close, his tongue dancing with hers in way not unlike the tango they’d just performed, still rotating their bodies as the music continued.

When they finally broke apart, she grinned and wiped away the smudge of lipstick she’d transferred, licking her lips. “I could do with a drink. How about you?”

He smirked and led her back to the bar, ordering them both glasses of ice water, topped with a lemon wedge. Sansa gulped it down gratefully. Kissing and dancing like that meant she’d been more than a little parched. As they stood there, catching their breaths, Tyrion and Shae sidled up, wearing matching grins.

“Well, that’s one way to make a scene,” Tyrion commented, before asking the bartender for another glass of the wine he’d been drinking all night.

“It was amazing,” Shae assured them. “I’m jealous of those moves.”

“I don’t know, I think we could give them a run for their money,” Tyrion said, winking cheekily.

“Uh huh, right. You’ve got two left feet, Mister,” Shae teased.

Tyrion stared down at his toes. “I do? Well, I suppose I wouldn’t be surprised. The gods certainly broke the mold when they made me.”

Shae rolled her eyes and punched him lightly on the shoulder. “It’s an expression.”

“I know,” Tyrion said indignantly. “I was being facetious.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

Beside Sansa, Petyr kissed her cheek and whispered that he would be right back. She watched him go, a small sigh escaping her lips before she noticed Tyrion and Shae watching her, and blushed.

“Oh, don’t go getting all embarrassed now. Not after that huge display we’ve all just witnessed,” Tyrion said.

Shae punched him again. “You stop.”

Tyrion chuckled and gestured to the bartender for another refill for his date. “So, you and Petyr, huh? Never would have guessed it. But I guess, somehow, it works.”

“It does,” Sansa said firmly. “I like him. He’s good to me.”

Tyrion’s gaze softened. “Good.”

Sansa was about to ask Shae when she’d started working at The Mockingbird when she heard it. That familiar melody was drifting through the room, so comfortable and so right. She glanced up to see Petyr walking back to her, and without another word to Tyrion and Shae, she floated back into his arms.

They moved close together, closer than was strictly necessary, resuming the position they’d been in before Cersei had so rudely interrupted them. Cheek to cheek. As they swayed, she could hear Petyr softly singing, serenading her with the lyrics to their song. “Heart and Soul. I fell in love with you, heart and soul. The way a fool would do madly. Because you held me tight. And stole, a kiss in the night.”

Unlike last time, he didn’t kiss her until the song had finished, but when he did, it was just as sweet, just as pulse quickening. Sansa wondered if he was trying to tell her that he loved her and hoped that was the case. Because she couldn’t deny it any longer, didn’t want to. She loved him. Heart and Soul.

 

[Niles and Daphne dance the tango in Frasier](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TeUFi2_BcKA)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope it was everything you hoped it to be! I know some of you were hoping Joffrey would do something, but I wanted to make the night truly special for Sansa (and Petyr).


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post gala smuttttt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A shorter chapter, but I imagine you'll like it regardless ;)

They’d started kissing in the elevator. Petyr had Sansa pressed against the cold metal walls as they quickly ascended, the rush in his head having absolutely nothing to do with rapid change in altitude. He was so absorbed in the feel of her body pressed up against his, the slide of her tongue along his, that he almost didn’t hear the telltale ‘ding’ as the elevator doors slid open.

Breathless, he pulled away, just long enough to make sure they were on the right floor, before kissing her again and backing them into his penthouse apartment. Sansa was clinging to him like he was her lifeline, and hell if he wasn’t doing the same to her. Somehow she’d broken through all of his defenses, had restarted that muscle in his chest he’d thought long ago had succumbed to decay. With every resounding beat he heard her name, heard their song, and he knew he was helpless to her charms.

The way she had stood up to Cersei earlier that night, the way she’d danced the tango with him, her body effortlessly fitting with his in one of the most passionate dances known to man… Everything about this night, the night that still had yet to end, was burned into his brain, until he thought of nothing but Sansa Stark. And he didn’t mind in the slightest. Rather, he reveled in it. With every touch, every word spoken, he only craved more. And he’d never stop.

He loved her. 

Oh gods, did he love her.

Petyr’s mouth never left hers as his hands roamed her body, tracing every delectable curve, committing every inch to memory. Just like the night he’d first kissed her, she tasted of lemon, a bitter tang that was quickly becoming a favorite of his, right there along mint and whiskey. Sansa’s body was pliable under his touch, and she whimpered against his mouth as he flicked her nipple through the thin fabric of her dress. She’d forgone her bra for the evening, her youth allowing for such a risky decision, and when he found the concealed zipper along her side and pulled, he saw that she’d decided against underwear as well.

He stared at her for a moment, his eyes raking in her pale skin and supple curves, the cascade of fire trailing down her back, and wondered what he possibly might have done to deserve this divinity in human form. Sansa stared back it him, a coy smile shaping her lips as she reached out, smoothing her hands over his chest. With her help, he shrugged off his jacket, and he didn’t even flinch as it fell to the floor, though normally he’d have abhorred such treatment of his clothes. She could do whatever she pleased, and he’d love her still, even thank her for it. Such was the hold she had on him. He willingly submitted to it. Anything for her. Only for her.

Their mouths met again as she divested him of his tux, and soon they’d tumbled into his bed, and he could feel every inch of her skin against his, more desirable than the finest fabrics man could buy. She was absolutely exquisite, her skin creamy and velvety soft, her hair running through his fingers like water, the heat between her thighs more inviting than a hearth after days spent out in the biting cold. Petyr kissed every inch of her that he could reach, pulling delicious moans from those petal pink lips as he paid her pert breasts their dues, licking and sucking and nipping at the sensitive flesh as she squirmed underneath him.

Sansa kept mewling under his attentions, breathy ‘pleases’ spilling from her lips until he finally pulled away, resting on his back beside her with a smirk. She stared at him, open mouthed, confusion and lust warring in her normally ocean blue eyes, until he gestured for her to move up, pulling her over until she was sitting on his chest. Petyr gripped her hips and urged her closer, and suddenly she understood. Returning his smirk, she took ahold of the headboard with both hands and moved to straddle his face.

A groan escaped both of them as her wet heat descended on his mouth, and she swiveled her hips, clearly enjoying the vibrations. He feasted on her tender sex as she hovered above him, until she lost her restraint and began to grind against his mouth. Petyr hummed in approval and increased his efforts, lapping her arousal from her swollen folds as she rocked her hips. Sansa was moaning incoherently above him, strings of nonsensical words rolling off of her tongue, only one discernible save for the usual calls of supplication. His name.

“Petyr… Petyr! Gods...Petyr!”

She trembled above him, and suddenly he was drowning as he fought to take in every last drop she spent, a drowning he’d happily succumb to. Her hips twitched as she felt the aftershocks of her orgasm, and struggled to keep herself upright. Petyr placed one last kiss against her slit before gently urging her to slide off, his need for better access to oxygen requiring the change. Sansa collapsed against the headboard, chest heaving, her cheeks and neck flushed red from her exertion. He sat up and pulled her into his arms, dropping kisses across her sweaty brow as she recovered.

When she’d caught her breath, she kissed him, trailing her hands down his chest, down his stomach, until they found his cock. Petyr groaned at the contact, flipping them so that her back was against the mattress, suddenly anxious to bury himself into the heat between her thighs. Sansa seemed similarly eager, rubbing the head of his cock against her sex, already wet again, before positioning him at her entrance. He slid in without hesitation, hissing out her name as her walls gripped his length.

And then they were moving, their hips meeting in the dance that was usually deemed not for public consumption. It was funny how shame often kept people from enjoying that which their bodies had been made for. Luckily he’d never been one to easily give in to that particular emotion. Petyr drove into her, again and again, quickening his pace and the strength of his thrusts as Sansa made her wishes known. She held him at her beck and call, a slave to her every whim, and he’d willingly comply, so long as she wanted him. As you wish, my love. As you wish.

She was getting close, he could feel it, her walls tightening as she neared her release. Petyr redoubled his efforts, shifting so that he could toy with her clit as he pounded into her with renewed vigor. “Come for me, Sansa,” he growled, searching out her stormy blues with his clouded greens.

Sansa met his gaze and cried out, convulsing underneath him, her walls contracting and bringing him to his own peak. Petyr gave a few more thrusts and dropped down into her waiting arms, his mouth crashing into hers. They shared a bruising kiss before parting, both panting and slick with sweat, and he gingerly moved off of her and flopped onto his back, not wanting to hinder her efforts to catch her breath.

A little noise of contentment escaped her as she crawled into his arms, her nose nuzzling his cheek. Petyr chuckled and pulled her closer, turning his head to capture her lips in another kiss. He wanted to say it now, those three little words he hadn’t dared to say to anyone for years, beyond family. Those three little words that he hadn’t had the need to say for years, that he hadn’t imagined every saying again, where romance was concerned.

But something held him back. He was afraid. Sansa liked him, clearly, and she wanted him. But it was still so soon. Too soon. And even if it wasn’t, he wasn’t sure he could do it. The last time he’d revealed his heart, it had nearly killed him. In more ways than one. He wasn’t sure he could go through that again.

Sansa kissed him gently, a sweet press of her lips that sent his heart stuttering, and smiled sleepily at him with hooded eyes, before moving to rest her head on his chest. He felt her rub her cheek against his skin, felt her lips curving into another smile, the rise and fall of her chest as she sighed. And then she mumbled something, so softly he almost missed it. “I love you.”

His breath caught. Surely he’d misheard. “What was that, sweetling?” 

Petyr closed his eyes, waiting for the denial, but she only snuggled closer and began to hum something. Their song. And then she started to sing, picking up partway through the lyrics. Just one line. “I fell in love with you, heart and soul.”

He relaxed, releasing the tension in his body that he hadn’t realized had been there. “Me too, my love.”

Sansa lifted her head, and smiled at him again, her whole face lighting up. She kissed him again and then whispered, “That doesn’t count,” her lips so close they brushed against his. “Say it properly.”

Petyr kissed her again, harder, putting everything he had into it, before giving her what she wanted, whispering the words against her skin. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” she said, offering him the sweetest smile before her lips melded with his once more.

And though he was already exhausted, he found the strength to make love to her once more, the words he’d never before received in return bringing new life into his veins. When they finally were too spent for anything more than words, they drifted off to sleep. And Petyr knew that somehow, someway, love had finally found him. And he had never felt happier, in that moment. Strange how a song could bring such joy into a man’s life. He’d be forever grateful. 

Grateful for the person who’d decided to play the song in the elevator, the day he’d met Sansa Stark. Grateful for the man who’d composed the lyrics and the melody, for every singer who’d sung the tune, from Dean Martin to Hoagy Carmichael. And grateful to his mother, for singing it to him at night, for leaving it to settle in his heart and soul for when he needed it most, for comfort, and joy, and rare moments of peace. He owed them everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the longer wait than usual, but hopefully the smut and declarations made up for it :D


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after… Sansa receives a phone call, with good news and bad news.
> 
> Trigger warning for allusions to nonconsensual sex

Sansa couldn’t remember the last time she’d been this happy. Perhaps she’d never been this happy. It seemed a beautiful dream, one that she couldn’t wake up from, because she’d never gone to sleep. Petyr was there, holding her close, before she finally drifted off, and he was there when she woke the next morning, his chest rising and falling with steady, deep breaths as he lingered in slumber.

She took a few moments to study him, to memorize the planes of his face, completely unguarded for once. He looked so peaceful, and she wondered if it was from sleep alone, or if he felt as happy as she did, if the joy of their declarations had seeped into his dreams.

It wasn’t long before he stirred, raising his eyebrows as he noticed her staring at him. “Do you make a habit of watching people while they sleep, my love?” 

My love.

Oh how she loved that. She loved _him_.

“Only when they’re as handsome as you,” Sansa replied, reaching over to card her fingers through his hair.

“Was that sarcasm?” Petyr yawned. “I can’t quite tell, having just woken up.”

“It wasn’t,” she assured him. She wanted to kiss him, but thought better of it. Morning breath.

Apparently he had no such qualms, as he leaned in and kissed her. His breath was unsurprisingly devoid of its usual mint (considering he’d just woken up), but not unpleasant, and she only hoped hers was the same. Petyr’s lips moved against hers languidly, slowly but surely sparking embers in her core, building that familiar heat, and she sighed contentedly, wrapping her arms around his torso, pulling him closer. Soon she was lost, swept up in his kiss, the feel of his body against hers, the steady pulse of need he fed inside of her as he snapped his hips to hers.

As she peaked, his name was wrenched from her lips, a guttural cry that somehow heightened her pleasure, sending shockwaves pulsing through her. He quickly joined her, pressing kisses all over her face afterwards, as if he couldn’t bear to stop kissing her, or showing affection, even for a moment. Sansa couldn’t blame him. She felt much the same. She could spend all of eternity wrapped in his embrace, and it still wouldn’t be enough.

As it was Sunday, they spent the day quite leisurely. Sansa donned one of his dress shirts and a pair of his boxers, and he slipped on jeans and a t-shirt, and they cooked breakfast together, then lunch, and dinner, whiling away the time watching Doctor Who, talking, and making love. As the afternoon waned, they tuned into Varys’ show, The Web, enjoying the highlights of the charity event, which heavily featured their impromptu performance. Varys gave the pair of them glowing commentary on both their fashionable attire and their dance moves, and though Sansa knew he was overdoing it, she appreciated the effort regardless. It more than made up for his previous insensitivity towards both her and Petyr.

Overall, it felt like a perfect, lazy day, one memorable merely for the company she kept, rather than anything they did in particular. She looked forward to many more days like this one in her future, the thought making her feel all fuzzy and warm, as if she was swathed in her favorite sweater.

After dinner, they curled up on the couch, Petyr sitting upright as Sansa lounged with her head in his lap. He was scrolling through his phone, answering a few emails that couldn’t wait, tapping out replies with one hand as the other lazily ran through her hair. The tv was on, and she was idly flicking through the channels, not really paying attention to the programs as she passed them by. Instead her thoughts were absorbed with replaying the charity event last night, in all of its glory. She really was so proud of herself. For standing up against Cersei. For telling Petyr she loved him, though she’d been terrified of his response.

She wasn’t sure what had made her so bold last night. Perhaps it had been the thrill of standing up to Joffrey’s mother, of no longer taking her needlessly harsh criticism. Or the way he’d spun her around the dance floor, so gracefully. So passionately. Or perhaps it had been drawn from her in the afterglow of the best sex she’d ever had, by far. Or, maybe, just maybe, it had been the way he’d requested their song, had pulled her close, and sung the lyrics of the tune that had tied them together.

Either way, she had taken the plunge, and been rewarded. He loved her too.

And it was so, so much better than anything she could have ever imagined. Forget cloud nine, she couldn’t even see that lowly number. No, she was high up, among the stars themselves, beyond even the milky way. And Petyr was right there with her.

Her musings were soon interrupted by The Beatles’ ‘Here Comes the Sun,’ piping from her purse. Sansa sat up and snatched the bag from the coffee table, rifling through it until she found her phone. It was her mother, though she’d already known that. She had set different ringtones for each of her contacts, and her mother had always loved The Beatles. Sansa had particularly fond memories of ‘Here Comes the Sun,’ of her mother singing it to her when she was sick, or having a bad day. The song had even birthed her mother’s nickname for her, ‘sunshine’.

She sat there for a moment, debating about whether to answer, before finally swiping the green call button and holding the phone to her ear. “Hello?”

“Sansa,” said Cat. “How are you doing?”

Sansa cast a look at Petyr as she settled back into the couch. He was watching her, curious. “Um, I’m ok. Why?” She was regretting answering now, her cheeks heating up.

“Well,” her mother began hesitantly. “I’ve just had a talk with your father.”

Sansa frowned, wondering where this was going. “And?”

“And he just got off the phone with Robert Baratheon,” Cat continued.

Sansa’s heart sank. Why hadn’t she considered this before? Petyr’s boss was best friends with her father…

She lowered the phone and put it on speaker, holding it with trembling hands, willing her voice not to shake. “Oh?”

“Robert said he saw you last night. At LASE’s charity event.” Cat sounded less than thrilled.

Sansa gulped. Beside her, Petyr reached over and pried one of her hands from her phone, taking it between his own. She looked up and saw the concern writ in his eyes, and tried to smile. But she couldn’t.

When Sansa didn’t say anything, Cat asked, “He said you came with one of his employees? Petyr Baelish?”

Sansa willed herself to speak. “Um, yes,” she managed.

“Oh,” her mother said flatly. Then, “I hadn’t realized you were seeing anyone.”

“It’s uh, still relatively new,” Sansa said cautiously. She really wished she hadn’t answered the phone. The only thing stopping her from just slamming the end call button or simply tossing the phone across the room was the way Petyr kept holding her hand, thumbs gently caressing her skin.

As if he sensed her thoughts, he removed one of his hands from hers and slipped his arm around her shoulders, rubbing the tense muscles. She relaxed further under his touch, drawing strength from his nonverbal encouragement.

“And how did the two of you meet?” Cat sounded as if she was struggling to keep her voice even.

“Um. Well, see, he’s Margaery’s uncle. You know Margaery,” Sansa said, closing her eyes as she fought to keep her composure.

“Yes, I do.”

“And you know how I got a new job, as a live in physical therapist?” Sansa ventured.

“You’re living with him?” Cat asked sharply.

“What? No!” Sansa said, flustered. “No, I’m living with Margaery’s other uncle. Varys. I’m taking care of Olenna.” She paused, then plowed on. “And of course, Petyr visits with his mother from time to time. And well, I guess we hit it off.”

The line was silent, and Sansa felt it gave new meaning to the term ‘deadly silence’. “I see,” Cat said finally. “And why did you feel the need to keep this from me?”

“I…” Sansa trailed off, not sure how to continue. Of course her mother knew why. Cat just wanted to hear her say it. Sansa sighed. “I wasn’t sure how you would react. Considering your past together.”

Petyr continued rubbing her shoulders, releasing her hand to better ease the tension from her body. She smiled as he pressed a kiss to her temple, trying his best to soothe her without words.

“So he’s told you.” It wasn’t a question.

“Yes.”

Cat sighed. “Sansa, do you really think this is a good idea?”

Sansa frowned. “Yes,” she said, finding her confidence again, and instilling the word with her faith in her new relationship, which was quite considerable now.

“He’s much older than you are,” Cat pressed. “And how can you be certain…?” Her mother trailed off, evidently losing her nerve to voice that particular thought. But Sansa knew what she’d meant to say, all the same.

Sansa forced a laugh. “No offence mom, but that’s a bit vain of you to even think to ask that.”

“It’s a natural question to ask, where our history is concerned.” Cat sounded affronted. “How much do you even know about Petyr, really?”

“We’ve known each other for over a month,” Sansa supplied. “And have had plenty of time to get to know one another.” She paused. “If you think you’re going to talk me out of it, you’re sadly mistaken. I know what I’m doing.”

“Do you?” Cat sounded skeptical.

“Yes,” Sansa said firmly.

Cat sighed. “I suppose I can’t stop you. But I hope for your sake that you’ve fully recognized the repercussions. Your father is less than pleased.”

Sansa frowned. “Considering that Dad was the one that put Petyr in the hospital, I don’t see how he has any room to talk.”

“Sansa.” Cat’s voice held a hint of warning. “I’ll not get into this with you any further tonight. We will see if it even continues to be an issue.”

“It will,” Sansa assured her, feeling defensive. “So if you have anything else to say, you might as well say it.”

Cat was quiet for a moment. “Do you know everything about his past with our family? Including Lysa?” she asked finally.

Beside Sansa, Petyr flinched, almost imperceptibly. Sansa steeled her nerves. “Yes,” she said. “And it amazes me that Lysa is not in prison, for what she did.”

Cat gave a sharp intake of breath. When she spoke, her voice wavered. “He chose not to press charges. I didn’t even find out until… Until after she’d lost the baby, and they’d gotten divorced.”

Sansa turned to see Petyr had closed his eyes, as if closing them could ward off the memories that were likely flooding through his mind at that moment. His hands had stilled, and Sansa shifted in her seat, reaching up with one hand to cup his cheek as she leaned her forehead against his. Petyr’s eyes fluttered open at the contact, and Sansa nuzzled her nose against his, wanting to provide any kind of comfort she could.

From her phone, Cat continued speaking, unaware of what was going on from their end of the connection. “I cannot imagine what he’s been through. And I regret everything that happened back then.” She paused. “I confess I haven’t had contact with him for years, and have no idea what kind of man he’s grown up to be. But still, this worries me, Sansa. Especially after Joffrey. I just don’t want you to get hurt again.”

Sansa pressed a kiss to Petyr’s cheek and reluctantly retreated as he offered her a smile. “I know, mom. But trust me, ok? He’s good to me. And I like him. I like him a lot.”

“Alright.” Cat let out a breath of air. “I’ll give him the benefit of the doubt. For now.”

“Thank you.”

Cat let out a shaky laugh. “Don’t thank me yet. You’ve still got your father to worry about. But, I’ll do what I can to placate him…. Incidentally, you’ve made the society pages in the New York Times. You look quite beautiful.”

Sansa turned to Petyr, raising her eyebrows at him. Immediately he reached for his phone and began searching. “What?” she asked.

“There’s a picture of you and Petyr, dancing. Part of the highlights from the charity event,” Cat said.

Petyr held out his phone for Sansa to see, and she grinned down at the screen, their passionate tango caught on camera, for all the world to see. They looked incredible. She wondered if maybe there were more pictures. Perhaps even a video.

“Oh, wow,” Sansa said, furrowing her brow as Petyr got up. ‘Where are you going?’ she mouthed.

‘To get a paper,’ he mouthed back. ‘Be right back.’

Sansa grinned at him, suddenly feeling much better, despite the stressful phone call she was in the midst of.

“You do look happy, I’ll give you that,” Cat said begrudgingly.

“That’s because I am,” Sansa said softly, making herself more comfortable on the couch.

“That is good to hear.” Cat paused. “I had planned on calling you today anyway, before your father received the call from Robert.”

“Oh?” Sansa asked absently, twirling a lock of hair around her finger. She wondered if Petyr would get more than one copy. She hoped so.

“Yes. The fourth is coming up.”

Sansa sat up, excitement flooding through her. “Oh! I’d almost forgotten, what with everything going on.”

Cat laughed. “So, you’re coming, right? We’d miss you something fierce otherwise.”

“Of course!” Sansa exclaimed, her thoughts already giddy with the prospect of returning to the lake house where they vacationed every summer.

In anticipation of the vacation, she’d long ago found a former classmate to cover for her with Olenna, so she wouldn’t risk being forced to miss it due to work obligations. Usually, by this time each year, she was constantly daydreaming about sun and surf. But this year, she’d barely even remembered their impending vacation until her mother had reminded her just now. With the excitement of her new relationship with Petyr, their annual vacation had taken a backseat in her mind, but now it returned full force. She couldn’t wait to see her family again, to feel the wind in her hair and the sun on her skin.

Then, as if she were a balloon, and someone had punctured her with a pin, she deflated. A weeklong vacation. Apart from Petyr. A week apart from Petyr.

She chewed her lip, wondering if she dared. It was still two weeks away. Maybe in that time, they’d get used to the idea enough for her to get everything she wanted. That is, if Petyr was even interested in going.

Every year, over the fourth of July, the entire Stark clan drove to Angola, Indiana, where they had an enormous lake house, situated right by the water. They had several boats, jet skis, a paddle boat, kayaks, even a water trampoline, and they spent their days swimming, fishing, and participating in various water sports, before returning home to stuff themselves with BBQ and other summer treats. And at night, her siblings would set off the vast stash of fireworks they’d accumulated that year. It was heaven for her.

Often, more than just the Starks came along. Sometimes the children would bring friends, or, later, significant others. Sometimes a family friend or two would come along, or extended family. So it wouldn’t exactly be unheard of for Sansa to want to bring Petyr. Though she doubted anyone else had ever wanted to bring such a controversial guest.

She decided just to go for it. “Mom?”

“Yes?” Cat asked, voice suddenly wary.

“Do you think…?” Sansa bit her lip. “Can I bring him? To the lake?” The words came out in a rush, all jumbled together.

“Sansa.” Cat sounded appalled. “I…”

“Please,” Sansa pleaded. “Just think about it.”

Again, the line went quiet. Then, “Fine,” Cat said reluctantly. “I’ll think about it. But, more than likely, your father won’t go along with it.”

Sansa nodded, forgetting her mother couldn’t see her. “Ok.” At least she’d given it a shot…

She heard the front door open and turned to see Petyr walking back into the room, a stack of newspapers tucked under his arm. Her eyes widened and she held back a laugh as he set them on the table. He must have bought at least ten of them. And the Sunday Times, no less.

Petyr sat down next to her and grabbed one from the top of the pile, rifling through it until he found the society pages. And there they were, taking up more space than any other picture. Sansa grinned, and leaned over to kiss him, startling when she heard her mother’s voice. She’d forgotten she was still on the phone.

“Unfortunately, I’ve got to go. I have to pick up Rickon from a friend’s. But we’ll talk later, yes?”

“Ok. I love you,” Sansa said.

“I love you too. Be safe.”

The line went dead, and Sansa set her phone aside, her shoulders crumpling from relief. She’d never had such a stressful phone conversation before.

“So, did it get any worse after I left?” Petyr asked tentatively, tossing the newspaper back on the coffee table.

“Actually no,” Sansa replied, leaning back against the back of the couch. She bit her lip, debating about whether to ask him now, or wait until her parents sent back their resounding no. Would it even be worth it to ask? She decided yes. It was important to her that he would be interested in going, at the very least. “She reminded me of our upcoming annual vacation.”

He quirked an eyebrow. “Oh?”

She nodded. “Every year, we spend a week in Indiana.”

Petyr frowned. “Gods… Why? What’s in Indiana beyond cornfields?”

Sansa laughed. “It’s not all farmland. There’s this town called Angola, with several lakes. My father’s family has always had this tradition of staying there every summer, to swim and fish, go boating. At first they’d had little more than a trailer, but with time they managed to buy a bit of property, right by the water. They built a house there, my father and his family, before my grandfather passed. It’s beautiful, and absolutely enormous. And every year, over the fourth of July, we all head to the lake, just my family I mean, not usually my uncles or anything, though sometimes they come too. We have a lot of fun. Some of my best childhood memories are from those vacations.” Her voice turned wistful at the end, as a thousand snapshots of her past flitted across her brain.

Petyr was watching her carefully, his face inscrutable. “And you’re going again this year, I presume?”

“Yes.” She twisted her hands in her lap, watching their movements for a moment before raising her gaze to meet his. “Would you like to come?”

He raised his eyebrows. “I wouldn’t think, judging from that phone conversation, that I’d be welcome.”

Sansa sighed. “Yes, well I did ask her. She said she’d think about it.” She blew out a breath of air. “Regardless of whether it’s possible or not, I’d still like to know. This is something that’s very important to me. So, would you like to?”

“I would, though I’m not sure how much I’d enjoy it, beyond your company,” Petyr replied. “But that will certainly be enough to keep me happy.”

“Hmm, it seems you are easily satisfied,” she murmured, smirking at him as she slid closer.

“When it come to you, yes.”

Sansa kissed him, thrilled that he’d go with her, if only her family would cooperate. “Good.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this chapter might be hinting at that surprise I’ve been alluding to in comments ;). Thoughts??


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Petyr deals with the fallout at LASE from bringing Sansa to the charity gala, then Sansa cheers him up. Later, the verdict is in on whether Petyr will go on the annual Stark family vacation to the lake.

Petyr wasn’t looking forward to going back to work Monday, but he went in just the same. Truthfully, he despised every hour he spent within LASE’s walls, doing the bidding of Tywin and Robert, both insufferable in their own right. But he’d long ago found the resolve to do things he didn’t particularly care for. Some things were necessary, in life, to get what you wanted. And dealing with the cesspool that was the legacy of the Lannisters and the Baratheons was one of them.

His main consolation was that it paid fairly well. And, of course, his connections to the company allowed The Mockingbird to flourish, as all of their wealthy contacts and clients flocked to his clubs, all around the country. Which meant even more money rolling into his bank accounts. Petyr probably could have left his job at LASE years ago, his finances reaching ridiculous heights, but something held him back. Somehow, it still wasn’t enough. Perhaps he found some kind of sick pleasure in subtly manipulating his superiors, pitting the families against each other when he could, waiting for the day when the company would crumble to dust at his feet. Perhaps he was just bored. Either way, he wasn’t ready to quit. Not yet.

Luckily, there weren’t any board meetings on the agenda that day, so he didn’t have to worry about being accosted by everyone at once. Though he knew it would likely happen individually. One by one, they’d all traipse into his office under some pretense, and chew him out, or give him a pat on the back, in the case of Robert and Tyrion. Though he suspected that Jaime wouldn’t bother. Cersei’s twin brother usually left all of the heavy lifting (so to speak) to her, more brawn than substance.

Petyr was knee deep in the company accounts when he heard his door open for the first time. Cersei breezed in, looking furious, and immediately launched into a tirade about how he’d ruined her charity event, how Joffrey was simply devastated (hmph.. Unlikely), how she wouldn’t put up with him bringing Sansa (she’d actually used a different term, but hell if he’d use it to describe his sweetling) to any more company events, and on and on and on. He sat there calmly, listening to her bash him and the love of his life, just waiting for her to finally run out of insults, or to raise her blood pressure so high that she stroked out (he rather wished for the latter to happen).

Unfortunately, Cersei showed no signs of stopping, her voice getting louder with every second that passed, until Tywin stormed into the room, looking livid. Immediately, the words died on her lips as she froze, face red and chest heaving, mouth gaping comically.

“What is the meaning of this?” Tywin demanded. Cersei opened her mouth to speak, but Tywin cut her off. “You are behaving most shamefully at present, disrupting the entire building for a personal vendetta. If they weren’t talking before about how Baelish brought the Stark girl on Saturday night, they most certainly are now. Joffrey barely noticed anything that night, if you’ll remember correctly. He was too busy snorting coke in the bathroom and fucking that Royce girl to have a clue about anything that transpired.”

“The girl shouldn’t have even been there-” Cersei began, only to be silenced with a fierce glare from her father.

“Enough. Get back to work,” Tywin snapped.

Petyr watched as Cersei flounced out of his office, slamming the door shut behind her, then turned his attention to Tywin. The Lannister patriarch studied him for a moment before sighing. “For god’s sake, Baelish. Next time, give me a heads up before you think to pull another stunt like that.”

“I would have, but then I wouldn’t have had a date for the evening,” Petyr replied archly.

“Why the gods have blessed me with such children, I’ll never know,” Tywin grumbled. “Don’t pull that shit again, you hear me? I don’t care who you fuck in your down time, but don’t go bringing the Stark girl to any more company events.”

“That sounds a bit like an infringement of my rights,” Petyr said cooly, testing the waters.

“Damn right it is, but you’ll never get past my lawyers regardless, so don’t even try it. I know you’re far more well off than most people know, but I can assure you that your money won’t buy a better lawyer than those that represent the Lannisters,” Tywin said, unruffled.

“And if Sansa becomes a more permanent fixture in my life? What then?” He hadn’t really meant to ask that, but thoughts of her were throwing him off his game, as of late.

Tywin chuckled darkly. “Well, then I suppose you’ll either find employment elsewhere, or you’ll learn to deal. Unless of course my dear daughter decides to let the matter go. Unlikely, but you can always cling to that whisper of hope.”

On that note, Tywin left, not even bothering to close the door after him. Petyr sighed and got up, locking the door after he shut it, because really, he was tired of the lot of them. Maybe he’d find the will to leave LASE sooner, rather than later.

 

* * *

 

By the time Petyr left work, he was in an incredibly foul mood. The only bright spot had been when he’d preemptively requested the week of the fourth off, just in case Ned Stark found himself abducted by aliens only to return with a newfound liking for his daughter’s new boyfriend. Gods, boyfriend. That sounded so juvenile. Petyr entertained the idea of instead referring to himself as Sansa’s lover, right to her parents, but decided he’d rather not be choked to death. Perhaps boyfriend was the better, safer choice. Even if it sounded ridiculous, considering his age.

At any rate, he’d managed to get the week off (he’d asked Robert, who gave him the vacation time even with the short notice, just to anger Cersei. Now there was an unhappy marriage…). He figured that even if he didn’t wind up going, he could use a break from LASE. Of course, he’d be out of his mind, with all of the extra free time, and no Sansa to fill it. But then, he supposed he could always schedule a few trips out to check on The Mockingbird’s other locations.

Petyr was tired, but he decided to drop by and see Sansa anyway, knowing that just seeing her would improve his mood. When she’d opened the door, she must have seen something in the expression on his face, because she immediately pulled him in for a hug, peppering his face with kisses. Or perhaps she’d just missed him. He hoped it was both.

Behind her, Petyr could hear Olenna making a fake gagging noise and couldn’t help chuckling before kissing Sansa on the lips in an act of defiance. A peanut shell sailed past his ear and he pulled away to see Olenna holding a bowl of unshelled peanuts, another projectile clutched in her fist. “Keep it up and you’ll have quite the mess to clean up,” Olenna warned him.

Sansa stooped to pick up the peanut shell before he could. “I hope you meant Petyr and not me,” she said, tossing the shell into the grocery bag Olenna had been using for the remnants.

“Of course,” Olenna assured her, giving her a wink.

Petyr didn’t say anything, just headed for Varys’ liquor stash to pour himself a much needed glass of whiskey. As he filled his glass, he felt Sansa come up behind him, slipping her arms around his waist and propping her chin on his shoulder. “You ok?” she asked. “You’re unusually quiet.”

He took a sip, enjoying the familiar burn. “It was a trying day.”

“I’m sorry.” Sansa hugged him closer, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

“It’s ok.” Petyr downed the contents of his glass and set it down. “How was your day?”

“Clearly much better than yours,” she crooned, removing her arms from him and stepping away, holding out her hand for him to take. “Come, tell me about it.”

They went back into the privacy of her room, where they wound up doing something else rather than talking, though it went a great deal better towards cheering him up. Even if they’d had to keep quiet, mindful that Olenna was still out in the living room, munching on peanuts and watching her soaps. Afterwards, Petyr did eventually tell her about his day, and was surprised that she didn’t seem more upset that she couldn’t come with him to company events.

“The charity event was wonderful, but really, it would have been so much better without the presence of my ex fiance’s family. And my ex fiance.” She paused. “I know that means you’ll have to go to the events alone, but I truly don’t mind.”

He smiled at her. “If you don’t mind, then I don’t either. Perhaps I should think about leaving LASE, anyway. Start my own business. Besides The Mockingbird, I mean. Or work freelance.”

“Hmmm, or you could just follow me around all day,” Sansa said, snuggling closer.

“Now there’s an appealing option,” he mused. “Though it would hardly pay the bills.”

“Like you’re not already rolling in dough,” she teased.

“True, but I’m accustomed to a certain kind of lifestyle. The money would run out eventually.” He toyed with a lock of her hair, twisting it around his finger. “So your day was fairly uneventful?”

“Mhmm.” She sighed. “It’s driving me crazy, waiting to hear the verdict about the family vacation though. I really want you to come with me.”

Petyr dropped a kiss on her forehead. “Well, maybe you should tell them that.”

“You think so?” Her forehead scrunched adorably as she pondered it. “Guess it couldn’t hurt. She did seem to stop being so intractable about our relationship when she mentioned that I looked happy in the pictures.”

He really wasn’t entirely looking forward to the prospect of spending a week with the Stark family, in Indiana of all places, but if Sansa wanted him there, he was helpless against her wishes. There was so much he’d do, only for her. She’d be worth spending a year trapped with her family, in Antarctica, with the power going out and only the corpse of one of their own for sustenance. Preferably Ned’s.

Well that was a morbid thought… Best not to share that one with his love.

By the time he left that night, he was considerably more cheerful. He’d almost decided to stay, but then he’d figured it would be better to return home and get a proper night’s rest. Forget that he’d probably end up doing more fucking than sleeping if he stayed, her mattress was simply abominable. He’d really have to get her a new one. A bigger bed too, if he could wrangle it. There wasn’t a whole lot of room to work with, in her living space, but if he could rearrange a few things, they might be able to manage. Assuming she’d let him.

The rest of the week passed by far more pleasantly, Cersei held on a tight leash by her father, and the only comments from Robert and Tyrion were words of encouragement (rather crass words, in Robert’s case), though neither could see what Sansa saw in him. When the weekend rolled around, he snatched Sansa from Varys’ apartment and they holed up at his place. Normally, Petyr would use the weekend to work on anything that needed tending to for his clubs, but he was willing to make an exception in her case. He made a lot of exceptions, when it came to Sansa. And every one was worth it.

She was far messier than he was, which considering how neat and tidy he kept things, really wasn’t all that messy. And she was quite the fitful sleeper as well, sometimes thrashing about like a madwoman. She’d even kicked him a few times. But he didn’t even mind. She could knee him in the groin and he’d probably thank her for it. He was that lost. It was ridiculous, and intoxicating, and he loved it.

They were cooking dinner together, Saturday night, adapting one of her favorite meals from a chain restaurant, Steak Gorgonzola, when her phone rang. Petyr continued whisking their homemade gorgonzola alfredo as she snatched her phone up from the counter. Instead of answering, however, she simply stared down at it, biting her lip in indecision.

He knew immediately who it was, and gave her encouraging smile. “Go on. You’re going to find out eventually.”

Sansa nodded and squared her shoulders, answering the call just before it went to voicemail. “Hi, mom.”

Petyr finished the alfredo and quickly tossed it with newly drained pasta, before stirring in the freshly wilted spinach, chopped sundried tomatoes, and seared steak medallions. It was nearly ready, now, but he wasn’t sure how long Sansa would be talking to Cat, so he set the burner on low and went to get the balsamic glaze from the fridge.

Sansa was leaning against the counter, her lips pursed as she listened to her mother. “Ok,” she said slowly. “I’m sure he wouldn’t mind that.” She paused. “So it’s really ok? He can come?”

Petyr set the glaze next to the stove, not sure whether he should be happy or horrified. One whole week, with Ned and Cat and their kids. In Indiana. With Sansa. He was both equally, he decided. With Sansa being the only reason he was happy about the prospect.

He watched her hang up the phone, her smile lighting up her face, and knew that whatever happened during that vacation, she’d be worth it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Get hyped! The next chapter, the vacation officially begins :D


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meet the parents (again). The vacation begins! Plane rides and Starks and road trips, oh my!

Sansa was ridiculously excited as she and Petyr boarded the plane to her home state, Ohio. She couldn’t believe that her mother and father had actually agreed to let him come. Either her father had had a brain transplant, or… well she wasn’t sure what had happened to make him agree to it. Whatever it was, she was grateful.

They were flying back to Ohio, to where her family lived first, and Robb was set to pick them up from the airport, along with his girlfriend, Jeyne Westerling. Then, her brother would drive them back to their family home, and from there they would all depart together for Indiana. It would have been easier for them to simply fly to Indiana, but Sansa wanted to show Petyr where she’d grown up. Even if it meant an awkward car ride that lasted several hours.

She’d wanted to pay for her own ticket, but Petyr had put his foot down at the thought of flying in coach, and since he was basically getting a free vacation, and she didn’t make nearly enough to justify paying for first class, he’d bought their tickets. And she had to admit, it was nice, sitting in first class, far roomier, and quieter too. Less children milling about, the clientele more refined and reserved. Even the food was better.

As they flew, Sansa regaled Petyr with tales of her summers in Indiana, filling him in on everything he should expect. She also told him more about her family, everything from need to know, to useless facts that nobody ever wanted to know that he’d likely forget. He listened to everything she said, though she realized she was babbling, her nerves making her mouth run, an endless stream of facts spilling from her lips. Still, he took in every word, no matter how inconsequential, and she was further reminded of how much she loved him, how much he cared.

When the plane landed, they retrieved their luggage, hovering about for a few minutes, uncertain, before Sansa heard someone calling her name. She whirled around to see her older brother Robb beaming at them, his girlfriend clutching his arm with one hand while she waved the other in greeting. Unconsciously, Sansa reached for Petyr’s hand as they started forward, though she let go when Robb pulled her in for a hug.

“Hi!” she cried, giving him a squeeze before stepping back. “And Jeyne! So good to see you!”

Jeyne grinned at her. “You too.”

“Ready to go?” Robb asked, eyes flicking to Petyr briefly.

Sansa flushed. “Right, sorry. Robb, this is Petyr Baelish. Petyr, this is my brother Robb, and his girlfriend Jeyne.”

“Nice to meet you both,” Petyr said, holding out a hand.

Robb took it, shaking Petyr’s hand rather stiffly, a bit of a grimace on his face. “Likewise.”

Sansa frowned, looking at her brother pleadingly. At her expression, Robb schooled his features into a more pleasant mask and said, “Ready to go?” again, with forced cheerfulness.

Well, at least he was trying… He must know about Petyr’s history with their parents. Or, maybe he just didn’t like that Petyr was so much older than her. It didn’t bother her, though. She liked that, in fact. 

They went out to Robb’s SUV, and when he’d opened the trunk, Robb eyed Petyr with begrudging respect as he loaded in both his and Sansa’s luggage without a moment’s hesitation. Sansa pulled Petyr into the backseat with her, deciding it would be less awkward that way, and Jeyne sat up front with Robb. As they pulled out onto the highway, the silence feeling more stifling by the second, Jeyne bravely spoke up.

“Looking forward to the lake, Sansa?” she asked.

“Always,” Sansa replied automatically, grinning at Robb as his eyes met hers through the rearview mirror. “I just love watching Robb wipe out as he tries for the hundredth time to waterski with only one ski.”

Jeyne laughed as Robb shot her a mock scowl. “Oh, me too. Though I can’t gloat as much as you, considering I can’t even get up on two.”

Robb gave his girlfriend a sweet smile. “This is your year, I know it,” he said encouragingly. 

Jeyne smiled back, then turned in her seat to look back at them, grin widening as she noticed they were holding hands. “Do you ski, Petyr?”

Petyr shook his head. “I’ve never had the opportunity to do so, no.”

“Too bad,” Robb said, not sounding sorry at all. “Sansa’s quite the expert. She’s the best in our family, actually. And the only one besides Dad and Jon that can go with only one ski.”

“Impressive,” Petyr said, tossing her a smirk. She’d already told him that of course, though she’d downplayed it more than her brother had.

“I hope you’re used to boats at least. You wouldn’t want to spend the entire trip seasick,” Robb continued, his tone suggesting that he hoped for just that.

“Oh no, I’ll be fine,” Petyr said loftily. “My clubs along the California coast have party boats. Though obviously the experience on a boat that size is far different than on smaller recreational watercrafts. I’ve been on my fair share of those too, dealing with clients and investors.”

“Oh good,” Robb said, trying and failing to sound like he meant it. 

Sansa rolled her eyes at Jeyne who gave her a sympathetic smile and turned back around, nudging Robb not so subtly. Robb looked chastised, but Sansa didn’t imagine it would last for long. This was likely to be a tough week.

When they reached Sansa’s hometown, she spent the rest of the trip pointing out important landmarks to Petyr, who listened with open interest. They arrived just before two, and everyone had already assembled, including their cousin, Jon, and his wife, Ygritte. Ned was busy trying to reorganize the family’s luggage in the back of the family van, with Bran and Rickon’s help, as Cat and Arya hauled out grocery bags and an enormous cooler. The van’s trunk was already full to bursting, and Ned was losing his cool as he fought a battle that couldn’t possibly be won. 

As they pulled into the drive, Arya gave out a whoop and dropped the bags she was carrying in the grass, darting forward to greet them. Cat let out an exasperated “Arya!” as she set down the cooler and scrambled to rescue the food that was tumbling from their plastic prisons. 

“Thank the gods,” Arya said, as they all got out of the car. “Now we have more space to put shit.”

“Language,” Cat snapped. “And get back here and help me.”

Arya rolled her eyes and walked back over to their mother, scooping up fallen packages. “You do realize that I’m in college, right?”

“I don’t care. There are still impressionable children around,” Cat shot back.

Arya snorted. “Mom, Rickon is fifteen.”

“Yes, well, I still don’t like it, so can it.”

Jeyne scurried forward to help them, and Sansa would have done so herself, had she not felt terribly awkward. Robb went over to where their father was struggling and snatched up a few of the larger bags before returning to his own car and popping the hood. Huffing from the exertion, he heaved the bags inside, then stood back to make way for the food Cat, Arya, and Jeyne were bringing over. They quickly loaded everything inside, and then Cat swooped Robb and Jeyne up in a hug before turning to where Sansa stood with Petyr.

“Glad you made it ok,” Cat said, directing a smile at Sansa, before giving Petyr a stiff nod. “Welcome to the agony of trying to get this family around and ready to go before the sun sets.” She sighed. “I’ve been up since dawn.”

“And it won’t get any better!” Robb said cheekily. “You know how it goes. Vacations aren’t for rest and relaxation in this family.”

Jeyne elbowed him. “Well maybe she’d have more time to relax if you helped a bit more.”

Robb held up his hands. “Hey, I do plenty.”

“Not when it comes to helping out in the kitchen, which is the bulk of the work,” Cat said. “I swear, every year you guys eat more and more. I’m beginning to think I should start up a catering company, with all of the cooking I do.”

“Sansa always helps. And Jeyne and Ygritte,” Arya offered. “And I would, but you know I’m shit in the kitchen.”

Cat shot Arya a look. “Yeah, that’s what you want me to think.”

Arya shrugged. “You’ll never prove otherwise.”

Sansa laughed. “Gods, I still remember the times you used to help mom with dinner. Either you’d take five million years to chop one carrot, or you’d use salt instead of sugar or vice versa and screw up the whole recipe.”

“And remember that time she swapped in pine needles from the Christmas tree for rosemary?” Robb chipped in.

Cat looked appalled. “You did?”

Everyone burst out laughing, even Petyr, and Sansa thought maybe everything would turn out fine this week.

Until her father finished rearranging the back of the van and walked over to see what they were all laughing about, Bran and Rickon in tow. Ned’s face brightened when he saw his daughter, only to darken when he noticed Petyr standing next to her. Her father fought to bring a smile back on his face but it turned out more like a grimace as he pulled Sansa in for a hug. 

“Good to see you,” he said gruffly, stepping back and surveying her. “Looks like they’re feeding you well enough, at least.”

Sansa laughed. “Well, considering I’m doing the majority of the cooking, I’d hope so.”

“And Olenna’s a fairly good cook herself,” Petyr offered. “Though I think she enjoys Sansa’s cooking far too much to spend any time in the kitchen lately.”

Ned ignored him, turning to frown at the house. “She’s still sick, apparently. Poor thing.”

“Who?” Sansa asked.

“Ygritte,” Bran said. “She and Jon got here and Ygritte immediately sprinted for the bathroom.”

“Twenty bucks says she’s knocked up,” Arya said.

Cat groaned. “Arya…”

“What? We’re all thinking it. And anyway, they’re married. So it’s not exactly a taboo subject,” Arya said defensively.

“Still, let them tell us in their own time, if that’s the case,” Cat scolded.

As if their ears were burning, Ygritte and Jon appeared at the front door, Ygritte looking a little worse for wear and clutching a bucket.

Cat and Ned hurried over, looking worried, but Jon and Ygritte apparently assured them that everything was fine, and Ned turned and called out, “Alright, if anyone needs to go to the bathroom, you better do it now. We’re not making any pit stops.”

Sansa decided she’d best take advantage of the house facilities and dragged Petyr inside, though besides Rickon, they were the only ones to do so. Since Rickon disappeared into the downstairs bathroom, she led Petyr upstairs to the one she’d previously shared with Arya, hoping it wasn’t a mess. Luckily, it seemed Cat had cleaned the house from top to bottom, as she nearly always did before they went on vacation.

After they were done, she gave Petyr a quick peek into her old room before they headed back outside. Everyone else was already in their respective cars, Ned and Cat in the family van with Rickon and Bran, and Arya riding with Jon and Ygritte, not one to be bothered by being a third wheel. Sansa and Petyr quickly climbed back into Robb’s car and they were off, heading for the toll road that would take them into Indiana.

It was a several hour drive, and Sansa had barely slept a wink last night, too fraught with excitement and anxiety over the coming week, so it wasn’t long before she passed out. When she woke, she was slumped against Petyr, her cheek resting on his shoulder. He was busy answering work emails on his phone, while Jeyne and Robb talked quietly from the front seats. 

Sansa sat upright and stretched as well as she could in the confined space, releasing a yawn. She was a bit embarrassed about falling asleep, but she’d clearly needed it. She only hoped that Petyr hadn’t felt too uncomfortable while she slept. 

“Feel better?” Petyr asked, closing his emails and slipping his phone back into his pocket.

She nodded, yawning again. “How long was I out?”

“About two hours,” he replied.

“That long?” She was surprised. It hadn’t felt like that long. Though she did feel much more well rested.

“We should be there in about forty-five minutes,” Robb confirmed.

Sansa raised her eyebrows. “Are you speeding?” she teased.

Jeyne sat forward, eyeing the speedometer. “Robb!”

“What? I’m only going five over,” Robb said.

“You’re going seventy-five!”

“Speed limit’s seventy,” Petyr said. “I was surprised myself. You don’t see that much.”

Jeyne humphed. “Well ok, fine.”

Robb laughed. “Sorry to disappoint you, darling. I know how you love to be mad at me.”

Jeyne stuck her tongue out at him and he laughed again. “Very ladylike,” he teased.

That earned him a punch on the arm before she reached for the radio. “Just for that, I’m picking the station.”

Knowing it would irk Robb, Jeyne chose a pop station and began singing along with Taylor Swift’s Bad Blood. Sansa couldn’t help joining in, because the song was catchy and she wanted to help Jeyne torment Robb. Petyr only shook his head, a ghost of a smirk playing about his lips as she belted out the lyrics. No doubt he was remembering the time he’d caught her singing I’m Gonna Be by The Proclaimers. One of her more embarrassing moments, to be sure. She’d thought no one was around.

They spent the next half hour with Robb trying to change the station and getting his hand swatted away as Sansa and Jeyne sang along to everything from Katy Perry and Justin Timberlake, to One Direction and Lorde. Petyr watched in amusement for awhile before returning to his work, trying to get in a few spare moments before he was caught with the spotty service Sansa had told him to expect. She didn’t mind that he was working. He was still getting used to being around her family, after all.

Once they arrived in Angola though, Sansa did the same as she had done in her hometown, pointing out places of interest. They wove through winding roads with hairpin curves and rolling hills, catching glimpses of the water as they traversed the city, until finally, finally they were there. 

Her childhood paradise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I usually put Robb with Jeyne Westerling, as per book canon. I have no idea why they changed it for the show...
> 
> Hope you liked the chapter!


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Petyr gets a tour of the lake house. Unpacking and awkward family interactions.

Well, it wasn’t going too badly, all things considering. Far better than Petyr had expected anyway. And the house was actually gorgeous, huge (thank the gods, since he’d be stuck there for a week with ten other people, only one of which actually wanted him there) and peppered with windows that let in the afternoon sunlight It was right on the lake’s edge and surrounded by a sprawling lawn, thick forestation shielding the rest of civilization from view to provide a quiet little oasis. 

There were wraparound decks on every level above ground, and four stories of rooms (counting the basement), including a large kitchen, sunroom and living area on the ground floor, a basement with a bar and a fully stocked entertainment center (as well as another, smaller kitchen), and two floors of bedrooms, along with a study and a playroom for any younger visitors. Each floor contained at least two bathrooms, though only the ones on the top two floors had showers and tubs in them.

Everything was clean and relatively modern, though aimed more for comfort and a touch of frugality than style. Petyr supposed that with so many kids, such things were necessary. He wondered though, how the Starks had managed to build such an impressive home, and on lakefront property no less. Ned Stark had inherited his father’s construction company after he’d retired (Ned’s older brother Brandon having died some years earlier), but Petyr had looked up the annual revenue for Stark and Sons’ Construction (real original, papa Stark) and it while it wasn’t terrible, it nowhere near would pay for such decadence. Though the company had done much better before Ned had taken the helm. It was said that Ned preferred working out on the construction sites with his employees rather than sitting inside an office, crunching numbers and playing nice with clients. Play to your strengths, Petyr supposed.

From what Sansa had told him, though, they’d built the home themselves, Ned and his brothers and father. But still, the property alone would have cost a fortune. Perhaps it was merely a matter of saving money over the years, making do with far less than they could afford in hopes of achieving a dream. Sansa had said that her parents lived well under their means, neither much for the finer things in life. He couldn’t really understand that, but as long as Sansa didn’t take after her parents in that regard, he didn’t care. (She didn’t. She might not have been entirely used to a more extravagant lifestyle, but she still appreciated it all the same, even craved it. He’d seen the way she’d admired the fashions that she couldn’t currently afford, which he’d gladly provide for her, given time.)

Petyr had helped unpack the cars along with everyone else, figuring it couldn’t hurt, though Ned was still studiously ignoring him. That didn’t really bother him; it was far better than being raged at, fending off either verbal or physical attacks (or both) from the man. He’d enjoy the silence while it lasted. 

Once everything was inside, everyone scattered, heedless of Cat calling after them to take their belongings to their rooms. Petyr was sure Ygritte was heading off to one of the bathrooms, her skin tinged a sickly shade of green, and Jon had obviously gone to comfort her, ever the dutiful husband. Meanwhile he’d heard Arya saying something to her younger brothers about exploring the surrounding forest, and Robb and Jeyne seemed intent on going down to the docks, to be by the water. 

Sansa held back though, and of course he wasn’t going to leave her side this week if he could help it. Though that meant they were alone in the entryway with her parents. Which was less than ideal. 

Cat and Ned exchanged exasperated looks before she sighed. “Well, at least they helped bring everything inside. That’s progress.”

Ned chuckled. “I could always go round them up.”

“Don’t you dare. I know you, you’ll disappear with the lot of them,” Cat replied, eyes narrowed. 

“Alright, what do you want me to do then?” Ned asked.

Cat surveyed the entryway and sighed again. “Um, I guess just move whoever’s luggage you can identify to their rooms.”

Ned nodded and reached for a bag, stopping when Cat said sharply, “Robb and Jeyne are NOT to share a room. Put her…” She scrunched her face up, thinking. “Right, ok, put her on the second floor, next to Sansa’s room.”

Well, Petyr could guess what that meant. Though he was hardly surprised. He wondered where they’d decided to put him? Perhaps in the crawlspace. Or left outside to fend for himself in the wild. 

Ned nodded again and hefted the bag, groaning. “Are we sure Arya didn’t pack bricks? What in the name of the gods is in here?”

Cat shrugged, turning to Sansa. “Thanks for staying behind, sunshine. If you wouldn’t mind helping with the groceries?”

Sansa turned to Petyr and he shrugged. “Fine by me.”

Cat gave him a tentative smile. “Alright then, grab any bags with food in them and follow me. We’ll get the cooler last. I need to make sure the fridge is even running. Last time it crapped out on us.”

An interesting choice of words. The unfortunate result of living with mostly boys for years, he supposed.

He picked up as many bags as he could carry, flashing back to his days lugging in groceries for Olenna, and trying to take everything inside in one go, heedless of how ridiculous the attempt would be. The kitchen was large and cheerful looking, fully stocked with all white appliances, a large eat-in countertop and an enormous scrubbed wooden table that spanned the majority of the room. Light spilled in through sliding glass doors that led out onto the semi-covered deck. Outside, he could see the lake, its choppy waters glinting in the sun, the shores dotted with lily pads and cattails.

They dropped their bags on the counter and Cat stayed behind to unpack them while he and Sansa returned for the rest. When they were back in the entryway, Sansa unexpectedly pulled him in close, sliding into his arms for a hug. “Thank you for coming,” she murmured into his shoulder.

“Of course,” Petyr replied softly. He paused, then added, “It really is beautiful here. You were right.”

She hugged him tighter, and was just raising her head, probably with the intent of kissing him, when they heard a grunt, and Ned stumped into the room, face slightly red, though whether from exertion or anger, Petyr didn’t know. They sprang apart, each reaching for more groceries as Ned grabbed for Sansa’s bag and disappeared without another word. Sansa bit her lip, looking worried, and a little red herself, but didn’t say anything, instead heading back to the kitchen.

Petyr followed her, depositing the last of the bags on the counter before announcing that he’d go get the cooler, and returning to the entryway. Ned was there, staring at his bag, the only one left besides the cooler, and when Petyr made for the cooler, the Stark patriarch actually spoke, gesturing at Petyr’s black and silver monogrammed luggage. “This yours?”

Petyr fought back a smirk. Well, considering his initials were on it… “Yes,” he replied, careful to keep his tone neutral. It wouldn’t do to rile up Ned. Not when he was about to spend a week in his presence. Not when he planned on staying with Sansa for however long she’d have him. Which he hoped would be a considerably long time. More than that, really. A lifetime wouldn’t be enough. Nor an eternity, but it’d certainly be a start.

Ned nodded and picked up the bag. “You’ll be up on the third floor, with the boys. Next to Bran,” he said, disappearing down the hall once more.

Well, that was an improvement over what he’d been expecting. Inside. And his own room, no less. Though of course he’d rather have shared one with Sansa, but even an idiot could tell that had about as much chance of happening as Tyrion Lannister deciding to join the priesthood (read: zilch). 

Petyr grabbed the handle of the cooler and tugged it down the hall, knowing that he’d probably wrench his back if he’d tried to lift it. He’d seen the veins popping along Ned’s forehead and temples as he’d strained to get the damn thing in the car. In the kitchen he found the counter nearly empty, Sansa stuffing the empty plastic bags into one emblazoned with the Walmart logo as Cat transferred the last few items into the cupboards. 

Cat noticed the cooler and sighed. “Damn. I’d forgotten that we still had that left.”

Sansa laughed. “We’ll take care of it, mom. Go, sit outside or something.”

Cat looked skeptical. “Are you sure?”

“Ned was almost done when I was out there,” Petyr offered.

“Ok,” Cat agreed. She patted Sansa on the arm. “Thanks, hun.”

“No problem,” Sansa said cheerfully, winking at Petyr as Cat retreated. 

Petyr opened the cooler and began handing things to Sansa, who quickly put them in their rightful places, skipping between the fridge and the freezer as needed. “So, all alone with my Dad for a moment, huh?”

Petyr chuckled. “He actually spoke. Asked me whether it was my bag, before informing me that I’d be staying next to Bran.”

Sansa paused, thoughtful. “Probably Jon’s old room then,” she said. “It’s a nice room. Next to the bathroom, too.”

“Why isn’t he staying there now?”

“Because his old room only has a twin bed. Now he stays in one of the rooms with a full. Since he’s married,” Sansa explained.

“Makes sense,” he said agreeably, wincing as he shifted through the melting ice cubes for a package of frozen hashbrowns. 

“After we’re done here, I’ll show you around,” she promised.

“You think we’ll be heading out on the water today?” he asked, curious. It was nearly dinner time, but the sun was still shining, and through the window he could see boats off in the distance, zipping through the water.

Sansa furrowed her brow in thought. “I don’t know. Maybe.” She grabbed a pack of bacon from him and stuffed it into the already overflowing fridge. “Guess we’ll see soon enough. Bet they’ll all be getting hungry though. I know I am.”

They finished putting away the last of the perishables and then dumped the standing water in the cooler down the sink, wiping down the insides afterwards with a dishtowel. Then Sansa showed him around the house, ending the tour with the room he’d be staying in all week. His luggage was perched on the neatly made bed, atop the dark green comforter. The room was larger than he had expected, and right next to the bathroom, complete with a chest of drawers, a nightstand and a closet, a few lone hangers dangling from the metal bar inside.

Normally Petyr would unpack, but he decided it could wait, and Sansa led him outside. Cat and Ned were sitting on the ground floor deck, beers in hand, watching Arya, Bran, and Rickon tossing a frisbee around. Jon and Ygritte were still inside, though they were no longer in the bathroom, judging by the soft murmurs Petyr had heard earlier from their bedroom when Sansa had showed Petyr the second floor. Robb and Jeyne were sitting on the end of one of several docks, feet dangling in the water.

Sansa paused beside him, taking in a deep breath of lake air and sighing in contentment. Cat turned at the sound and smiled at her daughter. “It’s good to be back, isn’t it?”

“It is,” Sansa agreed. She smiled at Petyr and reached for his hand. “Come, I’ll show you the boats.”

The Stark clan had a wide variety of watercraft at their disposal, including a ski boat, a pontoon boat, four jet skis, and a paddleboat, along with a water trampoline that could only be accessed by boat or swimming. According to Sansa, they also had several kayaks, tucked into the little shed on the edge of the property. Normally the paddleboat would be inside as well, but apparently Arya, Bran, and Rickon, with the help of Robb and Jeyne, had taken it upon themselves to get the boat out and put it in the water, though Robb had advised them not to take it out, since they didn’t know what they were doing yet for the evening.

Neither Robb nor Jeyne paid Petyr and Sansa any mind as she showed him the boats, running her hands affectionately along the fiberglass, eyes faraway with memory. She stopped at the end of the dock with the jet skis and kicked off her flip flops, before sitting down, and plunging her feet into the water. Petyr was wearing jeans, along with expensive italian leather shoes, so he sat down cross legged beside her instead, smiling when she leaned her head against his shoulder. Ok, he could probably get used to this.

Out across the lake he could see boats crashing through the waves, some towing skiers or people on rafts (Sansa had told him it was called tubing, which seemed weird to him, but whatever). He could hear laughter, the occasional screams and shouts, all of excitement rather than terror, mingling with the sounds of the ducks and geese paddling through the shallows nearby. The sunlight warmed his skin, and a breeze stirred his hair, and somehow it was all incredibly soothing. He could see why she liked this place. It was tranquil, despite her rowdy siblings gamboling about the property, the threat of countless squabbles over trivial matters looming in the air.

Sansa raised her head and nuzzled against his cheek until he turned and kissed her. She smiled against his mouth and moved closer, humming contentedly. Petyr tightened his arm around her, reaching around to cup her cheek, dizzy with the feel of her lips against his, the unique atmosphere lingering around this strange little oasis. A little noise of approval escaped her throat as their tongues touched, and he briefly entertained the idea of taking her there on the dock before dismissing it. He had no wish to drown, his head held under by Ned as Robb and the others egged their father on. As it was, he was pushing it. 

That didn’t mean he would stop kissing her though. Not a chance.

When they did finally break apart, her eyes were dancing, and she playfully kicked her legs in the water, sending an arc of droplets through the air, the sunlight refracting through them during their brief journey. Petyr raised his eyebrows and kissed her again and she laughed, clearly giddy with happiness.

“I really love it here,” she sighed, resting her head against his. “And I love you, for coming with me. For giving it a chance, despite how uncomfortable it might be.”

“I love you too,” he assured her. “And I wouldn’t have missed this for the world.”

Sansa’s eyes sparkled, far more beautiful than the sunlight dappling on the lake before them, oceans alight with shimmering stars reflected against their depths. She kissed him again, her joy seeping into his veins, and he was reminded once again of what lengths he would go to make her happy. She was everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <33333333333


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Their first night at the lake. A bit of drama reaches them from NYC.

Sansa could have sat out on the docks with Petyr forever, but unfortunately Arya soon shattered the moment of peace they had found, shouting at them to “get their asses back to the house.” Sighing, Sansa pulled her feet out of the water and took Petyr’s hand as he reached down to help her to her feet. She snatched up her shoes before they made their way back to the house, enjoying the sun warmed wood and then the soft tickle of grass against her bare skin. 

Everyone had gathered in front of the house, talking over one another as they debated about what to do. It was nearly seven, and everyone was hungry, but they were also eager to get out on the water and enjoy the last dying rays of the sun. In the end, it was decided that Cat and Ned would start dinner, and everyone could do their own thing for the next hour while it was prepared. Arya, Rickon, and Bran all dashed off to change into their swimsuits, intent on getting in a swim and bouncing about on the water trampoline, while Jeyne and Robb opted to take the paddleboat out for a spin. Jon and Ygritte were going to take it easy and stay inside and watch television until her stomach settled.

Sansa would have liked to take Petyr out on the paddleboat, but Robb had announced his intentions before she could do so, and she didn’t want to make a fuss. Instead, she offered to help with dinner, but Cat assured her that they’d already helped enough and that they should go have fun. They would just be having burgers and hot dogs tonight anyway, along with veggies and dip, chips, and cherry dump cake, none of which required much in the way of preparation, so Sansa didn’t feel the need to push the matter. She wanted more alone time with Petyr anyway. With so many people about, they weren’t likely to have many spare moments together. They would have to take what they could get.

She’d been pleasantly surprised so far by her family’s reaction to Petyr. Mostly they ignored him, though they tried their best to be polite whenever they found it necessary to talk to him. Which wasn’t ideal, but better than she’d expected. And her father had even talked to Petyr earlier, even if had only been to tell him where he’d be sleeping. 

Not wanting to go back inside, Sansa decided to show Petyr around the little woods that enclosed their house, trailing through the towering trees as birds fluttered overhead, roosting in the upper branches. They were quiet as they walked, but it was a companionable silence, and she just enjoyed the light filtering through the leaves and the soft breeze kissing her skin. When they found their way back to the boathouse where they kept the kayaks and the paddleboat when not in use, along with their water sports equipment, Sansa decided to peer inside, curious if her parents had acquired any new toys.

Inside, the kayaks were lined up on hooks along one wall, the shelves along the back packed with deflated tubes, skis, ropes, life jackets, kneeboards, inflatable rafts for lounging around in the water, frisbees, beach balls, water guns, pool noodles, and foam kickboards. She spotted a new water float shaped like a piece of pizza, as well as one shaped like a flamingo, and an inflatable basketball hoop. Petyr looked at the flamingo with raised eyebrows, and she laughed, asking him if he wanted to try it out sometime.

“Tempted, but no,” he replied, gaze traveling over the water guns. 

“Don’t even think about it,” she told him, picking up a pool noodle and smacking him lightly with the end.

Petyr smirked at her. “They’re not loaded, sweetling.”

“I know that,” she protested. “I just meant, don’t go getting any ideas for later.”

“Like your siblings will spare you,” he said, giving a raspy chuckle.

“True, but they’re not you. And if you choose to squirt me with a super soaker then I’m afraid that’s the only time anything like that is happening,” Sansa replied suggestively, even as she waved the pool noodle threateningly.

He laughed, prowling closer as she continued to brandish the pool noodle. “Oh, my love, I doubt that will be happening regardless. We’re not sharing a room, and it’s unlikely we’ll find many moments alone.”

“We’re alone now,” she said archly, a familiar ache making itself known in the pit of her stomach.

Petyr got ahold of the pool noodle and tossed it aside, backing her into the wall with a predatory gaze. “So we are,” he said, brushing his lips against hers in the merest whisper of a kiss before crashing his mouth to hers.

Sansa let out a soft whimper and threaded her arms around his torso, dragging him closer so that her breasts pressed against his chest, the contact sending a delicious jolt of heat to her center. Mindful of the limited amount of time they had, and the chances of getting caught, they moved more quickly than usual, tongues tangling as they ground against each other. His hands slipped to her waist, and he wrenched down the zipper of her shorts before pushing both them and her underwear to the floor. 

She groaned as he toyed with her clit, her hips bucking against his hand, whimpering in frustration when he took it away. With a devilish smirk, he spun her around, pulling her close with one hand as the other freed his cock. One quick stroke and he was buried to the hilt, and Sansa cried out, exhilarated by the feeling as he stretched her walls. 

“Fuck,” Petyr hissed, one hand gripping her waist as the other massaged her right breast through her shirt. 

Sansa gripped the nearby shelving as he pounded into her, trying and failing to hold back her moans. How was it always so good with him? With every strike he found that spot within her that set her aflame, tightening that glowing coil inside. “Harder,” she pleaded, slamming her body back to meet his at an increased pace. “Faster.”

He let out a growl and complied, snapping his hips with such intensity that she nearly screamed, until finally the pressure became too much and that coil released with a fury, every nerve sparking as the tendrils shocked through her. Petyr kept going, movements ever more erratic as she rode through the ecstasy, until he suddenly stilled and she felt him pulsing inside of her. Still sensitive, she pushed back against him, feeling their combined juices drip down her thighs. He pressed closer for a moment before retreating, groaning as he slipped out.

Sansa always hated the moment he no longer filled her, the absence of him far more noticeable than usual in those seconds. If she could have him there always, she would. Even if it would be completely impractical. Behind her, Petyr tucked himself back into his pants before giving her a soft pat on the butt. Grinning, she wiggled her butt at him, pushing against his hand when he touched her again. 

“Hmm, I’d love to, sweetling, but I’m afraid we don’t have much time left,” he said, giving her a playful slap.

She squealed and stood up, turning around. “Hey now, I’m not into that.”

Petyr rolled his eyes. “One little slap doesn’t constitute spanking.” He eyed her thighs, noting his seed drying against her skin. “We need to clean you up before we head back to the house.”

Sansa stepped out of her underwear and used the garment to dry herself off before pulling her shorts back on. It wasn’t exactly all that comfortable, going without underwear while wearing jean shorts, but she didn’t have much choice. If she could, she’d pop into her room and put on a new pair before dinner. 

While she was slipping her shoes back on, Petyr took her underwear and tucked them into his pants pocket. She raised her eyebrows. “And what do you plan to do with those?”

He shrugged and tossed her a smirk before holding out his hand. “Shall we?”

Sansa shook her head and laughed. “I hope we don’t look like what we’ve been doing,” she said, following him out of the shed.

“Ah, the freshly fucked look. It really does become you, sweetling,” he teased.

Sansa laughed again and swatted at him. “Shh,” she warned, still giggling.

Luckily, when they got back to the house, they still had a little bit of time before dinner was ready, so Sansa slipped into her room and donned a new pair of underwear while Petyr waited outside. He’d wanted to come in, but Arya was in the next room, rifling through her bags with the door open, so they couldn’t risk it. 

They all ate outside, tucking in to burgers and hot dogs hot off the grill, choosing between the various condiments and toppings available. Arya, and Sansa’s brothers and father all put away an excessive amount of food, and even Ygritte had managed to eat something. Petyr had eyed the dump cake warily upon hearing the name, but Sansa laughed and assured him that it was basically like a fruit cobbler.

Clean up fell to the youngest of the Starks, since none had been particularly helpful yet, and Arya, Bran, and Rickon agreed to it with very little grumbling on their end. The rest of them sat outside around the firepit, talking as the sky darkened and the fireflies came out to play, Ned and Robb occasionally feeding the fire with more twigs. When everything was put away, Arya grabbed the frisbee again, which glowed neon against the night, and suggested a game of ultimate frisbee. Everyone except Jeyne, Cat, Sansa, and Petyr decided to play, moving away from the fire into the expansive yard and darting about, laughing and tackling each other in a loose interpretation of the game that seemed more like football than anything.

They were quiet for a moment, just watching the others having fun, until Jeyne told Cat that the food had been delicious, as always, asking after the seasoning they’d used on the burgers. Sansa stood from her uncomfortable plastic chair and grabbed Petyr’s hand, tugging him towards the cushioned swing that Jon and Ygritte had previously occupied. She felt Cat’s eyes on them as they sat down, but tried not to feel so self conscious, tucking her legs underneath her and poking him in the side. “You know you want to rock the swing.”

Petyr lifted an eyebrow but complied, stopping only when his phone beeped from his pocket. Frowning, he pulled it out and unlocked the screen, before laughing. 

“What?” Sansa asked, shifting closer to read the text he’d gotten. He held it out for her to see and she laughed too, before reaching for her own phone. Olenna had texted him to ask what on earth Twitter was, having just received a message from Margaery telling her to check out Loras’ account. 

Petyr was shaking his head and typing a response, and Sansa couldn’t help but notice that her mother and Jeyne were watching them curiously, as she tried to open the app on her own phone. “What are you going to tell her?” Sansa asked curiously.

“I said that it was a social media page, and she texted back ‘never mind, I don’t care,’” Petyr replied, glancing up as Ned joined them, breathless from chasing after his kids.

Sansa giggled, then huffed in frustration as the app failed to load. “Damnit, I can’t get a good enough signal out here to see.”

Beside her, she saw he’d managed to open Twitter just fine, already scrolling through Loras’ feed. Wordlessly, he passed his phone to her, and she sat up straighter. “He’s live tweeting a date with Renly!”

“What?” Ned asked, looking flabbergasted.

Sansa was too absorbed in reading about Loras and Renly partying at The Mockingbird to answer, so Petyr explained, “My nephew, Loras. Sansa’s friend as well. He’s on Twitter telling the world about his latest date with Renly Baratheon.”

Ned frowned. “As in Robert’s brother? He’s gay?”

“For Loras, at least, it seems,” Petyr replied, stopping and turning to Sansa as she nudged him.

“Oh my god, look at this picture!” she said. In it, Loras and Renly were dancing rather provocatively with another man their age, a lanky blonde with a cheeky grin.

Petyr smirked. “That’s Olyvar. He runs the club in my absence. Clearly he’s enjoying himself more than usual.”

Sansa furrowed her brow. “Why do I know that name?” she murmured distractedly, swiping through more posts featuring pictures.

“He and Loras have a history,” Petyr supplied. “It ended amicably, obviously.”

She stared down at the phone, noting how they were all practically groping each other as the night wore on. “You don’t think…?”

He caught her meaning. “Personally, I’d rather not know. Though I might not have a choice in the matter, if they continue live-tweeting. I’d hope he’d have more sense than that though. The media would have a field day.”

Sansa nodded and quickly opened his contacts, firing off a message to Loras to use more discretion, just in case he happened to look at his phone. Of course, she’d had to make sure that Loras knew it was her and not Petyr, sending the message. Hopefully Loras wasn’t too drunk to figure it out. 

She closed Twitter and stared down at his phone for a moment before grumbling, “How come you’ve got so much better service than me? Full bars and everything?”

Petyr flashed her a crooked smile. “Just lucky, I guess. You’re welcome to use it whenever you want. I don’t mind.”

Sansa grinned at him then nodded at her parents. “Good. It’ll come in handy since these two insist on not getting wifi out here.”

“It’s meant to be a retreat into nature,” Ned protested. “Besides, you’re not supposed to have time to dick about on the internet out here. You can do that any day.”

Sansa rolled her eyes. “Except we still have our phones and we’re eating up data instead of bumming off the wifi. Since you won’t get them unlimited, Arya, Bran, and Rickon’s cell phone bills are going to be horrendous.”

“No they won’t,” Cat replied. “The stipulation this year was that they leave their phones behind. It would have been the same for the rest of you as well, but of course we couldn’t impose the rule on our guests.”

Jeyne laughed. “Robb would have smuggled his phone in anyway. He lives for his sports updates.”

Ned shook his head. “Kids and technology these days. You’re all far too reliant on it. You miss things, you know, glued to the screen.”

“You miss things without it, too. Intel moves fast these days. If you don’t have access to the internet, then you’ll be struggling before long,” Petyr said, gently prying the phone from Sansa’s hands as a text came in. His gaze darkened as he read the text. “Oh for the love of…” He sighed and turned to her. “I’ll be back. I need to make a phone call.”

“Everything ok?” Sansa asked, staring up at him as he got to his feet. 

“No, but I’ll take care of it. It seems Olyvar’s good time has been cut short tonight,” Petyr replied evasively, scowling down at his phone as the screen flashed with more texts. 

She had a sinking suspicion she knew what had happened, and wanted to confirm she was right. “It’s Joffrey again, isn’t it?” In her peripheral vision, she saw her mother and father exchange alarmed looks.

“Yes.” He sighed. “I’ll tell you after I get this sorted out, I promise.” 

Petyr touched her cheek and then headed into the house for privacy. Sansa watched him go, her stomach in knots.

“What’s going on?” Cat asked cautiously.

Sansa turned back to face her parents and Jeyne, their faces barely visible in the flickering firelight. She wrung her hands for a moment before smoothing them down her thighs, releasing a breath. “Joffrey’s been causing a lot of trouble at Petyr’s club lately. He goes there nearly every night, and lately it’s been getting out of control. If he isn’t satisfied for any reason, or if someone gets in his way…”

Ned frowned. “Why doesn’t he just ban him from the club?”

“It’s not that simple. Petyr works for Robert and Tywin at LASE, and with Cersei, Tyrion, Jaime and Joffrey. Cersei will do anything to keep her son happy, and if Petyr bans Joffrey from The Mockingbird, she’ll find a way to get back at him, possibly even get him fired,” Sansa explained.

Cat stared into the fire before meeting her gaze. “Sansa, you’d tell me if Joffrey ever…” She trailed off.

“No, he’s never done anything like that to me,” Sansa said quickly. “Though I suspect it was only a matter of time. He seems to get more violent under the influence. I’m glad to be rid of him.”

“If he had, he wouldn’t be around to make trouble,” Ned growled.

Cat flashed him a look and was about to say something when Petyr returned, a glass of water with lemon in his hand. He pressed it into Sansa’s hands and she gratefully took as sip as he sat down next to her. “All taken care of?” she asked.

“For the most part.” He paused, hesitant. “It seems that Joffrey saw Loras, Renly and Olyvar, and decided to express his displeasure.” Sansa grabbed for her phone, alarmed, but he continued quickly. “Everything’s fine. Joffrey punched Renly, shouting about how he was disgracing his family, and then Loras punched Joffrey, knocking him out. Olyvar called the police, and of course Cersei swooped in. She demanded to talk to me, but I called Robert, who talked her out of pressing charges against Loras or the club, on the grounds that Joffrey attacked his uncle first.”

Sansa groaned, then held back a laugh as she imagined Loras punching Joffrey. She would have liked to see that. “Alright, that’s it, you really need to quit. It’s not worth the money, having to put up with them.”

Petyr sighed. “I’m inclined to agree. Tyrion has actually expressed interest in breaking from the company before, tired of being under his father’s thumb. Perhaps we could work something out.” He stared at the lake in the distance, thoughtful, and Sansa saw her parents watching them with matching expressions of bewilderment. Maybe they were beginning to see that Sansa’s relationship with Petyr actually had substance. She hoped so.

“I could see that,” Sansa said, reaching for his hand. “From CFO to CEO maybe?”

“Or I could just expand my efforts for The Mockingbird. Add another partner, open up more locations. There are four at present, two along the California coast. Oberyn Martell and Ellaria Sand take care of those. The fourth is in Miami, under the charge of Lothor Brune. Of course that would mean more trips out of state.” He frowned and sighed again. “I’ll have to think on it.”

She bumped her shoulder against his. “No pressure.”

“I know,” Petyr assured her. “Just mulling the options. I’ve officially reached my breaking point where LASE is concerned. I don’t appreciate it when patrons at my club cause my family distress.”

At that moment, the frisbee sailed towards them over the fire, a throw gone wrong, and Petyr caught it before it smacked into Sansa’s face. Sansa blinked in surprise as Rickon ran over, shouting “Sorry!”

“Oh gods, you nearly creamed Sansa, Rickon!” Arya said, running up and slugging him on the arm. “Good catch,” she said to Petyr with an appreciative nod. He tossed it back to her and they raced off again, completely oblivious to their sister’s feelings.

“You ok?” Petyr asked, as Ned and Cat got up to warn them to be more careful, Jeyne trailing in their wake.

Sansa nodded. “My knight in shining armour,” she teased, threading her fingers through his.

“My lady,” he replied. “Happy to be of service.”

“However shall I thank you?” she asked, fluttering her eyelashes for effect.

“Oh, I imagine you’ll think of something,” Petyr said, lips quirking in that irresistible smirk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked the little rendezvous in the boat shed ;)


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Breakfast with the Starks, then skiing!

The mattress in Petyr’s room was considerably better than the one Sansa kept at Varys’. Petyr suspected that it was newer. Hers was probably well over a decade old, a relic from her childhood. He’d actually slept well enough, heading to bed when Sansa fell asleep against his shoulder, only to startle awake when Arya let out a shriek as Robb tackled her to the ground. Cat had then insisted that Sansa should get some sleep, and Petyr wasn’t about to stick around with the family without Sansa. Ned followed them inside under the pretense of needing something from his room, clearly making sure Petyr didn’t sneak into his daughter’s bedroom. 

Petyr had stayed awake for awhile, checking the news on his phone before hauling out his laptop and working, using a wifi hotspot from his phone. It was after midnight before everyone finally went to bed, and after two when he glanced up to see Sansa slipping into his room. She held a finger to her lips and padded lightly to the bed as he set his laptop aside and quickly made room for her. They hadn’t done anything, unwilling to risk waking anyone up, but she curled up against him in the narrow bed, her back to his chest, and really that felt just as nice.

He woke around seven and reluctantly roused her, not wanting to get caught and strangled by her father. Sansa stumbled from his room sleepily and went back to her own, and Petyr got ready for the day, dressing far more casually than was his wont to do. More than likely he’d have to change again, if they were going out on the water today, but he wasn’t going to wander about the house in swim trunks. 

The room seemed smaller now that he was trapped within its four walls (save for a brief trip to the bathroom), as he rather disliked the notion of encountering the Starks without Sansa as a buffer. Petyr knew she’d gone back to her room with the intention of getting a bit more sleep, so he tried to get a bit more work in while he waited for the rest of the house to show signs of life. Just before nine, he finally heard the others stirring, the sounds of people walking past his door, yawning and mumbling sleepy greetings to the others.

Hoping that Sansa was awake as well, he got up and opened the door to leave, stopping short when he saw her there, hand raised in anticipation of knocking. She grinned and gave him a peck on the cheek before grabbing his hand. “Come, mom’s making breakfast!”

Petyr let her tug him down the hall and two flights of stairs, admiring her butt in the tiny black shorts she’d worn to sleep in. Down in the kitchen, Cat was hard at work frying bacon as Jeyne mixed the batter for pancakes, and Ygritte and Jon set the table. Ned was seated at the head of the long table, reading the newspaper, a cup of coffee steaming beside him. No one else was to be seen, all either sleeping or still getting ready.

Cat gave a sigh of relief as she spotted them. “Sunshine, take over for me? I heard my phone ringing a moment ago and I just want to check that it wasn’t anything important.”

“I’ll do it,” Petyr offered. “She hates frying bacon, all of the grease popping from the pan.”

Sansa wrinkled her nose. “I don’t know how you can stand it, honestly.”

Cat looked briefly taken aback before she nodded and gestured at the pan. “Have at it.”

Petyr took over easily, turning the bacon as it sizzled, and Sansa sidled up to Jeyne. “Why don’t you make sure Robb’s up? I can start the pancakes.”

Jeyne gave her a grateful smile and scurried off. And then it was just the two of them, cooking breakfast together just as they’d done so many times already. Petyr liked cooking with Sansa. It felt so domestic. So right. And he’d never forget their first time in the kitchen together, how’d they’d sung Heart and Soul. How they’d kissed. The start of something so perfect he still wasn’t sure it was real.

By the time the rest of the Starks ambled into the kitchen, Petyr had cooked several pounds of bacon, and Sansa had stacks of pancakes teetering on a large serving platter. Everyone found a place at the table (he’d wound up between Sansa and Ygritte, who seemed to be feeling a bit better this morning) and dug in, dousing their food with syrup. Nobody talked much, too intent on stuffing their faces, the boys in particular taking in an obscene amount of food (though Arya gave them a run for their money. Either she had an incredible metabolism, or she burned it all off somehow. The latter, likely). 

Half of the family was still in their pajamas, and half were already wearing their bathing suits. When they’d eaten nearly all of the food available to them, they scattered once more, getting ready for their first boat ride of the summer. Petyr hadn’t thought they’d go out on the water so soon, but apparently that was the case. Sansa told him to go change before heading off to slip into her own bathing suit. He wondered if she’d be wearing a bikini or not. And if Ned would throw a fit if she did. He hoped so. That she’d be wearing a bikini, not that her father would overreact, of course, though he supposed he wouldn’t mind that either, unless she was forced to don a one piece instead.

Petyr didn’t often go swimming, in fact he couldn’t remember the last time he had. He’d had to buy new swim trunks especially for this trip, and a beach towel. Sansa had gone with him though, and he’d let her pick out his towel. She’d chosen one with a tropical beach at sunset, complete with palm trees (he was definitely glad she’d decided against the My Little Pony one she’d teasingly threatened him with). His swim trunks were plain in comparison, a black and white pattern typical for the garment. Not wanting to wander around shirtless (though Rickon and Robb were already doing so), he slipped on a plain black t-shirt and grabbed his sunglasses and towel, before putting on sandals. Normally he’d never be caught dead wearing sandals, but since he’d be on a boat, he had to make allowances.

Before he left his room, he thought about slipping his phone into his pocket, but decided against it. He didn’t want to take the chance that he’d forget about it and jump into the water, effectively destroying his link to, well everything. Instead he set it on the nightstand, hoping no emergencies would require his attention while he was out on the lake.

Sansa was waiting for him outside his room, dressed in a fairly modest, but still very flattering (who was he kidding, she’d look good in one of those snuggies that were so popular a few years ago. Or nothing. Preferably nothing), violet bikini. A pair of sunglasses were perched on her head, and she had her towel slung over one arm, a can of spray sun lotion in her hand. “Come, help me put some on,” she said. “And you’ll need some too.”

They went outside into the grass and Sansa lifted her hair off her shoulders, standing still as Petyr sprayed the sunscreen all over any exposed skin. He had to rub it in along her back, and didn’t fail to notice Ned watching them through the window with a scowl. Once Sansa’s flawless skin was shielded from the sun’s harmful rays, he did the same for himself, briefly removing his shirt so he wouldn’t end up forgetting later on. His scar in particular was more susceptible to sunburn. Again, he spotted Ned eyeing him through the window as Sansa spread the sunscreen on his back, though the eldest Stark looked more peculiar than angry, for some reason. 

Sansa had already applied sunscreen to her face using a bathroom mirror, but of course he hadn’t, so she sprayed a bit in her hands and carefully smoothed it on his skin while he kept his eyes closed. When she was done, she kissed him and he opened his eyes to see her smiling. 

“You’re sure you don’t get seasick?” she asked, pulling him down to the docks.

“Pretty sure,” Petyr replied, watching the Stark children loading up the boats.

Apparently they were taking both the ski boat and the pontoon boat out, since there were too many of them to just fit on one, and rather than opt for a bigger boat, they’d bought two (perhaps so they could do more at a time? He really wasn’t sure). The siblings squabbled over which boat they would be in as Ned loaded twin coolers into each of them, only quieting when their father spoke. “We’ll be skiing first. And then kneeboarding. The water’s calm enough. Anyone who wants to ski, get in the ski boat. The rest in the other. We’ll jockey around as needed.”

Cat got into the pontoon boat, sitting at the helm, followed by Bran, Arya, and Rickon, Jon and Ygritte. Ned slipped behind the wheel of the ski boat, joined by Jeyne and Robb. Sansa pulled Petyr onto the ski boat, clearly intent on skiing. He was looking forward to seeing her, out on the water, the wind whipping through her hair as she sped over the waves. Her skills and beauty would likely take his breath away.

“Not gonna have a go this year, Ygritte?” Ned called out.

Ygritte shook her head. “Not today. Maybe tomorrow.” She was looking a little queasy again. Petyr hoped they had a garbage bag on board. Or a bucket. Just in case.

“Alright, then. Off we go!”

Everyone cheered as they pulled out of the docks, picking up speed when they’d gotten far enough away from the coastline. Petyr was sitting up in the circle of seats in front, with Sansa, and as the boat sped up, they slowly rose into the air, tilting at an angle. As the boat crossed the wake of another, it surged upward and came back down again, and he felt the cold spray dotting his skin, a pleasant sensation against the already over-warm morning sun. The wind tore at his clothes and hair, ruining any efforts he’d made towards being presentable this morning, but when he looked at the wide smile gracing Sansa’s features, he couldn’t find it in him to mind. She looked so happy.

Ned and Cat drove the boats around the lake for awhile, giving them all glimpses of the homes built along the coastline, many along the same scale as the Stark vacation home. Some were beautiful, log cabin inspired structures, others filled with more windows than wood or brick, and some were more than a little ostentatious in their decor, flaunting the wealth of their owners. Nearly all sported their own dock, complete with at least one boat, and one by the channel even had a small biplane.

Petyr eyed the plane curiously as they slowed down and made their way along the channel, making their way to one of the lesser occupied lakes. Behind him, Ned switched on the radio, which immediately blared ‘American Woman’ by The Guess Who, and he heard Robb laugh and say something about how they always seemed to hear that song, out on the water. Across from Petyr, Sansa knocked knees with him and shot him a grin, tucking her windblown hair back from her face.

“What do you think?” she asked.

He laughed. “We just got out here, sweetling. Ask me again when it’s been more than a few minutes.”

Sansa rolled her eyes and moved to sit next to him. “Don’t try to hide it. I saw you smiling.”

“Well, you were sporting quite the hairdo earlier, so you can’t really blame me there,” he teased, slipping an arm around her shoulders as they picked up speed again.

“Liar,” she shot back, though she leaned closer anyway. It was a bit hot to be so close together, but he really didn’t care. They’d cool off from the breeze and the lake spray anyway.

This lake was far less crowded than the last, and after a few minutes they stopped in the middle, letting the engine idle as they prepared the boat for skiing. Ned rummaged around in a compartment along the narrow walkway, pulling out a ski rope and tossing it to Robb, before reaching back inside.

“Alright, who’s going out first?” Ned asked, holding up two lifejackets and looking expectantly around the boat.

“You go first, Robb,” said Sansa. “I’d rather wait a bit and let the water warm up.”

“Chicken,” Robb called back. He was perched in the back of the boat, unwinding the ski rope and tying it off.

Sansa only shrugged but Jeyne gave him a playful smack. Ned put the smaller of the two lifejackets back inside the compartment and closed the door with a snap. Next to their boat, the pontoon boat with the rest of the Starks bobbed in the water. Petyr could see Arya, Bran, and Rickon trying to toss some sort of snack food in each others mouths, only doing so whenever Cat’s back was turned. Ygritte was huddled in a seat, Jon beside her, rubbing her back as he and Cat talked. Petyr was sure the girl had to be pregnant, and wondered when they would finally give up the ‘secret.’

Everyone turned to watch though as Robb slipped on the lifejacket and hopped into the water with a splash, the younger Starks whooping about the score the splashback would merit, taking bets on how many times he would wipe out, and on whether he’d finally manage to ski with only one ski. The verdict was decidedly against their older brother, and many seemed to think that he’d spend more time wiping out than actually skiing. Ned tossed the skis out to his son, one by one, waiting for Robb to put them on, then tossed him the rope as well, before returning to the driver’s seat.

Before they started off, Ned opened a hatch above the steering wheel and pulled out a digital camera. “In case he finally does it this year,” Ned explained with a grin, holding it out for Sansa to take.

Sansa laughed and moved back across from Petyr again, the better to watch her brother and snap photos and video. She turned it on and snapped a picture of Petyr before he’d guessed her intentions, then another as he flashed her a smirk, before aiming the camera towards her brother. The boat began to move, and the rope unfurled in the water. Robb held onto the handle at the end of the ski rope with both hands, the ends of his skis poking out of the water like pointed shark fins. 

Petyr had never seen anyone ski before, so he watched with interest as the boat went faster and Robb popped out of the water, knees bent for a moment before he straightened out his legs more, leaning back as the rope pulled him along. Cat and the others followed at a distance as Ned pulled Robb in a straight line for a bit, finally turning. Robb took the turn with practiced ease, bumping over the wake of the boat and skimming across the glossy surface of the water. When the boat’s path straightened out again, he slipped back inside the wake, navigating the bumps the boat didn’t quite smooth out.

“So how does he go from two skis to one?” asked Petyr curiously.

“He’ll likely attempt it soon. He has to drop the one, while still moving, and slip his free foot into the extra slot in the other ski,” Sansa explained, squinting as the sun got in her eyes, her gaze alternating between the video she was capturing and the actual scene.

She’d been right that Robb would be trying soon, as no sooner had she finished speaking than Robb wiped out, disappearing beneath the waves a little less than gracefully. Petyr heard laughter howling from the pontoon boat as Jeyne called out that Robb was down, and Ned took a hairpin curve, aiming for the spot where Robb was bobbing in the water. The rope cut through the water as it was dragged behind the boat, the handle skipping against the bumps in the surf, but Ned didn’t attempt to pull it to Robb just yet, waiting for his son to get his skis back on. 

Once Robb was ready again, Ned drove the boat past him and Robb caught the rope as it danced beside him. They tried five more times, but Robb still couldn’t seem to get the hang of it, climbing back into the boat afterwards looking dejected. The laughter from the pontoon boat had died after the third attempt, as his siblings took pity on him, and Jeyne gave him a hug, even though he was soaked. 

“Next time,” Ned assured him. “This is only the first day.”

Robb gave him a tired looking smile, clearly wiped out and frustrated with himself. “I’ll try again tomorrow, if the conditions are right,” he said.

Ned nodded and turned to look at Sansa.”You’re up.”

Sansa looked a bit reluctant (likely not wanting to show up her brother) but she stood and handed the camera to Petyr, taking the lifejacket her father offered and shrugging it on. 

Petyr watched as she snapped the clips together, tightening the straps securely. “Do you want me to continue taping?” he asked.

“If you can figure out how to work it, sure,” she teased.

“Hey now, is that a crack against my age, because I can’t see any other reason you’d say such a thing,” he said, lacing his voice with mock affrontation and hitting record on the camera as he focused it on her face.

“It might have been,” Sansa replied airily, tossing him a smirk before turning away and walking down to the end of the boat.

Petyr kept the camera aimed on her, reminding himself that he shouldn’t linger on her butt since this was the Stark family camera (though it was hard. She really looked good in that bikini). She hopped into the water with careful grace, rising out of the water afterwards like she was in some iconic movie rather than being filmed for a home video. He’d have to remember to ask for a copy later. Though he was sure that moment would be forever burned in his brain anyway.

Before long, they were ready to go again, and this time he didn’t hear any bets on whether Sansa would wipe out. Clearly she was a superb skier. Petyr kept the camera trained on her, unable to contain his grin as she popped out of the water like cork from champagne, expertly skimming along the waves behind the boat with the most beautiful smile. Gods, she was perfect, like Aphrodite rising from the surf, flaming hair whipping around her immortal features, impossibly gorgeous. Absolutely breathtaking.

His breath hitched as she sped in and out of the wake, every move fluid. Water fanned out from beneath her skis as she glided along its surface, and he saw the rainbows the sun made through the spray as they followed her along, beauty attracted to beauty. Sansa dropped her ski with absolutely zero visible effort, and then she was supported by only one, her long legs standing one after the other, muscles lean and taut beneath flawless skin. Petyr caught every moment with the camera, so grateful that the Starks videotaped their time out on the water. Every second was precious. She was a vision, out there on the water.

When she tired, she simply let go of the rope, falling back into the water like she was falling into a lover’s embrace, calmly letting the waves embrace her. Ned turned the boat around to pick her back up, and Petyr grabbed for her towel as she climbed back into the boat, keeping the camera trained on her still. Sansa was laughing with delight as Robb, Jeyne, and her father praised her efforts, and the rest of her family was cheering from the other boat. As she made her way back to Petyr, he kept the focus of the camera on her face, recording the pride and joy sparkling in her eyes, the irresistible grin shaping her lips. He wanted nothing more than to see her that happy, always.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :D


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A break for lunch, some not so surprising news, and a little bit of risky behavior.

Sansa was exhilarated when she got back in the boat, fresh from her best time out skiing yet. Petyr kept filming her as she walked up past the driver’s seat, only lowering the camera when she drew level with him. He was grinning just as wide as she was and she couldn’t resist throwing her arms around his neck and kissing him hard. 

She was still soaked from her time in the water, but he didn’t seem to mind, only pulling away when Ned grunted in displeasure behind them. Sansa sat back down, flushed in embarrassment, and avoided her father’s gaze as she worked to remove her lifejacket. Petyr looked unconcerned, sitting across from her, and she wished she had such composure. It really wasn’t fair.

Jeyne decided to give skiing a go next, so Sansa passed off her lifejacket to Robb’s girlfriend and they went through the usual ritual. It took far longer, because Jeyne was still learning the ropes, so to speak, but eventually they’d managed to get her up, and she skated across the water for awhile, Robb cheering her on. Once Jeyne was done, they called over to the pontoon boat to ask if anyone else wanted a turn, since the water was still quite calm, and Cat drove close enough so that people could switch between the boats.

Sansa decided she wasn’t going to ski anymore today, nor did she have any inclination towards kneeboarding, which would come next, and since Petyr wasn’t interested in either, they moved over to the pontoon boat. Robb and Jeyne stayed with Ned, and Bran, Arya and Rickon joined them. Normally, Ygritte and Jon would have loved to be out on the water, but clearly Ygritte’s stomach wasn’t cooperating, and Jon was reluctant to leave his wife’s side, so they stayed on the pontoon boat. Luckily, Ygritte had only gotten sick once, while Arya and the others had broken into their snacks, the smell too overwhelming for what was obviously morning sickness. Now she was just sipping water slowly from a plastic bottle, and staring gloomily out across the waves, upset at not being able to join in on the fun. Sansa wondered if perhaps the news was unwelcome. She hoped not.

It was harder to watch as the others took their turns at skiing, now that they were in the pontoon boat, but still manageable. Arya got up easily enough, as did Bran, and Rickon succeeded in his third attempt, having had less practice than the rest, as the youngest. After everyone was tired of skiing, they switched to kneeboarding, starting with Arya, who had always favored the sport. Sansa watched as her little sister coasted along the water, showing off for the rest by spinning the board around in the water so that she was riding backwards. As the rest of them tried their hand at it, Jon took over the wheel from Cat so she could watch, since Ygritte seemed to finally be feeling a bit better.

The morning passed by so quickly, that Sansa was startled when her parents decided it was time to break for lunch. They’d packed stuff for sandwiches in the coolers, along with drinks, and there was no shortage of chips and other goodies to go along with them, so there wasn’t any need to return to the house. Instead, they parked the boats in a sandbar and settled in to eat lunch while the sun beat down on their skin and gulls cried in the distance, mingling with the zip of the other boats roaming about.

Cat tugged the cooler towards herself and opened it, pulling out the cheese and lunch meat. “Alright,” she said. “We’ve got turkey, pastrami, roast beef, and ham, along with a couple different kinds of cheese, and various condiments.” She bent down and retrieved a grocery bag filled with bread from behind her seat. “Here’s the bread. And I’ve got plastic knives packed somewhere if you need them. Help yourselves.”

Jon stepped forward first, grabbing a paper plate and some bread to make Ygritte a ham sandwich, hoping she’d be able to keep it down. Cat worked on her own sandwich at the same time, smiling up at Sansa and Petyr when she’d finished. “Aren’t you two hungry?” she asked.

Sansa grinned at her. “Starving, actually,” she admitted, turning to Petyr. “How about you?”

“Weighing the options,” he replied, leaning forward and picking up the package of sliced pastrami. He pulled out a piece that had separated from a slice when Jon had helped himself and tried it. “Not bad.”

Sansa snatched the package from his hands and tried some as well. “This is good,” she said approvingly. “Think I’ll have a pastrami sandwich. That is, if you’ve brought my spicy mustard along,” she added to Cat.

Cat rolled her eyes good naturedly. “Of course.”

Petyr took four slices of bread from the package. “I’ll make it, if you want. Just tell me what kind of cheese.”

“Hmm,” Sansa studied the available options. “Co-jack, I think.”

He nodded and set to work, making two identical sandwiches. Apparently he liked her taste in food. Cat watched him work for a moment, looking like she didn’t quite know what to think of him making Sansa lunch, before she bit into her own sandwich. Sansa tried not to smile and gratefully took her sandwich when he’d finished, accepting the bottle of water he’d retrieved for her as well.

In the ski boat, Sansa could hear her siblings squabbling as they jockeyed around each other, trying to make their own sandwiches. Ned was trying to mediate, and getting more than a little frustrated by the sound of it, until finally he threatened to drive them back to the house and everyone went quiet. Cat sighed and took the last bite of her sandwich before digging out a bag of doritos and a package of twinkies, ripping them both open before helping herself.

Sansa knew that normally her mother didn’t indulge in junk food, but their vacations at the lake were always an exception. They burned off most everything they consumed anyway, their days filled with water sports and swimming, muscles sore by the time they turned in for the night. Playing hard and eating well always defined these weeks in paradise.

Once everyone had finished eating, they took to the water. Arya, Bran, and Rickon were the first, having inhaled their lunches with gusto, and they were tossing a beach ball between them, aiming to hit each other more often than not. Jeyne and Robb soon followed, once Robb had blown up the float she wanted to lounge on, and Ned jumped in the water only to make his way up into the pontoon boat. He sat next to Cat with a groan and stole the twinkie she’d just unwrapped, prompting a glare from his wife as he took a large bite.

“That wasn’t for you,” Cat said, still giving him the stink eye.

“Sorry, you want it back?” he asked, talking around a mouthful of cream and spongy yellow cake.

Cat elbowed him and grabbed another one, but he only laughed and trained his gaze on Ygritte, who’d actually managed to keep her sandwich down and was now happily eating double stuff oreos (or rather, twisting them open and licking off the frosting, before passing the chocolate cookie parts to Jon, who ate them obligingly. They were so weird, sometimes). 

“Feeling better, I take it?” Ned asked.

Ygritte nodded, then shared a look with Jon. “Actually, we have news. Though I imagine you’ve already figured it out.”

Ned beamed at them. “You’re pregnant?”

Jon and Ygritte nodded, wearing matching grins. “We’ve already told mom and dad,” Jon explained. “And we were going to tell you before, but somehow it never seemed the right time.”

Cat squealed and clapped her hands. “Oh, I’m so happy for the both of you!”

“Congratulations,” Sansa told them warmly. Beside her, Petyr nodded in agreement.

“Thanks,” Ygritte said. “It was unexpected, but we’re happy.” She paused. “Though I would have preferred it if the morning sickness would have waited until after this trip. If this baby keeps me from skiing we’re gonna have a long talk once they finally arrive.”

They all laughed at that, and then Ygritte punched Jon in the shoulder. “Alright, let’s get in the water now. If I don’t cool off soon, I’m going to end up boiling the little guy.”

“Or girl,” Jon added, following his wife as she made her way to the edge of the boat.

“Nah, it’s a boy. I can tell,” Ygritte said.

“You can not,” Jon protested.

Ygritte sighed and pushed him into the water. As he rose from the water, spluttering, she called out, “You know nothing, Jon Targaryen.”

Sansa laughed along with her mother and father before turning to Petyr. “Want to get in the water?”

“Sure,” he replied, bending down and undoing the straps of his sandals. Looking a hair self conscious, something Sansa was sure only she could see, he pulled off his shirt and followed her over to the end of the boat, sitting next to her on the little platform.

They both stayed there for a moment, just dangling their legs into the water, before he suddenly pushed off the edge, landing on his feet easily and turning around. The water was only up to his chest, shallow but not so much so that the Starks couldn’t roughhouse. Sansa grinned at him and kicked her legs, splashing water his way. Petyr nimbly ducked her assault before stalking towards her, eyes predatory. He stepped up close to her, palms resting on either side of where she was sitting, and leaned in close to whisper in her ear. 

“Are you sure you want to do that?” he asked.

Sansa just smirked as him, then squealed in surprise as his hands were suddenly around her waist and he pulled her into the water. She fell against him, her arms flying around his neck, and nearly pulled them both under. When she found her footing, she stayed in his arms, but didn’t refrain from calling him a dick.

Petyr only chuckled and smirked at her, and gods, she loved the sound so much, and that smirk too, and damnit, she really couldn’t resist kissing him then. Though she regretted it when she heard her siblings catcalling them, and pulled away, face burning. Again, he looked unperturbed, seemingly untouchable when it came to normal emotions like shame and embarrassment, and she was so irritated and impressed by that fact that she splashed him and then swam away, fearing retaliation. 

Of course, he followed her, but didn’t splash her back, only shaking his head in amusement. Sansa tried to scowl at him, but found she just couldn’t, and gave up. Instead, she floated on her back for a moment, just enjoying the way the water caressed her skin, drifting with the waves as they lapped against the boat. She closed her eyes as the sun warmed her face, feeling the calm wash over her, as if the lake water keeping her afloat had medicinal properties, along with the sunshine, unfiltered in the cloudless blue sky.

Her reverie was soon broken as she heard someone call out “heads up!” and Petyr grabbed her hand, tugging her out of harm’s way. Sansa crashed into his arms just as the beach ball her siblings had been batting around smacked into the water, right where she’d been floating moments before. Scowling at her rude awakening, she kicked the ball back to Arya with more force than was strictly necessary, then turned and kissed Petyr, grateful that he’d spared her from her siblings’ carelessness once again.

“Thank you,” she said, once she’d pulled away, though she kept her arms locked around his neck, her forehead resting against his.

“Does that happen often?” he asked with a crooked smile.

“Unfortunately yes,” she replied. “I don’t usually join in on their antics, choosing instead to sit on the sidelines. And when I don’t pay close enough attention, I often wind up getting hit. One of the many unfortunate side effects of being the odd one out in my family.” She paused. “Though usually it’s an accident.”

“It was an accident just now,” Ned said, suddenly appearing out of nowhere, looking more than a little displeased.

Sansa jumped and moved away from Petyr. Honestly, was that really necessary? She groaned inwardly as she spotted her mother heading towards them as well. Apparently her parents weren’t about to let them show any kind of affection towards one another.

“I don’t know,” Petyr said. “I saw the look in Arya’s eyes just before she threw it. And her aim is usually spot on.”

“Could have been the wind,” her mother offered, frowning over at Arya.

Sansa trained her gaze on her younger sister, and noticed the stiffening of Arya’s shoulders as she realized she was being watched. Petyr had been right. 

“No, she did it,” Sansa said, just as Arya gave her a not so innocent wink.

Ned saw it too and groaned. “Of course she did.”

Cat laughed. “Oh, I’m sure Sansa will get her revenge. And if not, we can always make Arya clean up again tonight.”

Sansa rolled her eyes, but decided not to give it any further thought. She didn’t want to spend the whole vacation warring with her sister, not when she wanted time alone with Petyr. Arya could be quite vindictive, and it would be far harder to sneak around with her sister intent on revenge.

Her mother had brought two inflatable floats with her into the water, clearly anticipating Sansa’s need for one (she usually spent those moments after lunch sunbathing atop the waves, rather than goofing off with her siblings, Cat beside her. A kind of mother daughter tradition that only they shared). Sansa accepted it gratefully then wriggled on top and snatched up Petyr’s hand. “Keep me from floating away, will you?”

“Certainly, my lady,” he replied, giving her a mock bow, complete with a smirk.

She laughed and splashed him, noticing how uncomfortable her parents looked but deciding she didn’t care. They would just have to get used to it. “Back to such formalities again, are we?” she teased. “Should I refer to you as my lord, or Mr. Baelish?”

“My lord would be preferable. If you use the other I can’t promise you won’t float away,” Petyr said, gazing unconcernedly across the water.

Sansa couldn’t see his eyes, hidden as they were behind his designer sunglasses, but she could imagine the glint there, the only real hint that he was kidding besides the subtle nuances in his voice. “Dick,” she said, playfully shoving at his chest.

He smirked at that. “You love it.”

Oh gods. Well that could be taken in more ways than one. Which he knew. The bastard. Sansa’s cheeks flamed as she avoided looking at her parents. Petyr’s smirk grew, and she knew that if they had been alone, he’d be laughing. As it was, he was struggling to contain his mirth at the whole situation, and she simultaneously hated him for the comment and loved him for it.

Ned cleared his throat and stalked away, clearly unable to handle being around them anymore. Cat followed him, looking disconcerted. When they were out of earshot, Sansa glared at Petyr. “Was that really necessary?”

“Yes.”

“Obviously you want to be stranded out here overnight then,” Sansa said. “Because that’s where things are likely heading if you continue making comments like that.”

Petyr looked a bit chagrined. “I honestly didn’t think it would bother him that much.”

“Uh huh,” she said, unconvinced. 

“Alright, I did. But it was too good of an opportunity to pass up. I had to take it.” He paused. “It’s your fault for setting me up.”

Sansa laughed in spite of herself. “No, you’re not putting the blame on me. If you wind up ‘swimming with the fishes,’ it’s all on you.”

“You’d miss me though,” he said, rubbing his thumb along her knuckles and tugging her closer.

Her raft bobbed over to him, bumping against his chest. “Yes,” she said. “I would. Very much. So don’t do it again.”

Sansa leaned up on her elbows, licking her lips invitingly, and he got the hint and lowered his head to kiss her. Forgetting for a moment where they were, that she was on raft, surrounded by her family, she kissed him harder, moving to slip her arms around his shoulders. The raft pitched with her sudden movements, and she fell off with a yelp, colliding with his chest. Petyr somehow managed to keep them both steady on their feet with their heads above the water, and he grabbed the raft before it drifted too far away.

Somehow, no one had seen what had happened, everyone too engrossed in playing beach volleyball (sandbar volleyball?), batting two balls around now instead of one. Even Ned and Cat had joined in, their earlier displeasure forgotten. Petyr noticed this as she did, and tugged her back to the boat, tossing the inflatable raft inside before tugging her out of sight from the others. Sansa followed him until they were completely shielded from view, to the side of the pontoon boat. No one could see them from their new position, two boats in between them and the rest of her family, and the water was shallower here as well.

She knew what he wanted, spurred on from their kiss earlier, and she wanted it too. When he pulled her close, she curled her arms around his torso and kissed him, her tongue almost immediately finding his. Petyr let out a soft groan and gripped her hips through the water, squeezing before trailing his hands down the back of her thighs. Sansa whimpered into his mouth and slipped her arms around his neck instead, and he easily hoisted her up so that she could wrap her legs around his waist. 

The water wasn’t too rough, the boat rocking along the waves but not dangerously so, and he pressed her against the side of the boat to gain some semblance of stability. His cock was already hard, and she let out a low moan as it brushed against her clit, the noise luckily swallowed by Petyr’s mouth against hers. He reached down between them, able to keep her up with only one arm helped by the natural buoyancy of the water, and freed his length, before pushing aside her bikini bottoms and sliding inside. Sansa sighed as he filled her, relishing the feeling for a moment before they began to move. 

Petyr kept his hands under her butt as they jerked their hips, chasing a release with far less finesse than usual, due to the precarious nature of their current position. Sansa wound up reaching for the railing along the boat’s edge, grabbing onto the bar, and the waves knocking the boat up and down gave a whole new dimension to their movements, as if the lake was helping them along, urging them to fuck harder. They each bit back their moans, names coming out in breathy whispers as the currents building in their veins finally swept them away. 

Still trembling, Sansa let go of the boat, sinking down to find shaky footing as she leaned against Petyr’s chest. Their mouths met again as the lake washed away the evidence of their coupling, and they just stayed there for awhile, clinging to one another as if only in each other’s arms could they find safety. It had been so risky, to fuck in the shallows with her family so close by. But what was life, without a little risk, where love and sex were concerned?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They just can't help it, can they? ;)


	27. Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More awkward interaction between Petyr and Ned and Cat. Petyr and Sansa cook for her family.

Petyr was certain he must have a death wish. First, he’d shamelessly hinted to Ned Stark (and Cat) that their daughter loved dick. And then afterward, he’d fucked Sansa just out of sight of her family, in the shallows next to their boat. He could still hear them, yelling and calling out to each other, as he and Sansa held back their moans, and it was only with some small semblance of self preservation that he managed to keep quiet as he came.

Sansa looked more than a little surprised at their recklessness, though not at all contrite, and when they’d both managed to compose themselves, they made their way back around the pontoon boat and climbed inside. The Starks never seemed to notice their absence, too intent on whacking around the two beach balls they’d brought along, and Petyr enjoyed the brief reprieve from their reproachful stares. Sansa dried off with her towel and then lounged along the row of seats, her head cushioned by the bundled terrycloth, right next to where he was sitting. He wished she could lay her head in his lap, as she often did while they were in similar positions, but understood why she wouldn’t. They’d already been reckless enough.

She seemed content not to speak for the moment, instead closing her eyes as she let the sun dry the excess moisture still lingering on her skin. Petyr absently drew his fingers through her damp locks as he gazed out over the water, watching boats zip by, some towing skiers or people tubing. He wasn’t sure what time it was, but that didn’t really matter. Time seemed to flow differently here, everything passing in a far more relaxed and flexible pace.

Normally he would loath being caught without his phone, without any way to be productive, but that wasn’t the case, so long as he was with Sansa. Petyr sensed that she could drag him anywhere, to events that he wouldn’t normally be caught dead in, and he’d still be happy, so long as they were together. Though he wouldn’t tell her that. More than likely she’d take him somewhere she herself hated, just to see if she could. Like a doll expo, or country line dancing (he’d definitely draw the line at either of those).

Their moment of peaceful companionship was soon broken by Ned and Cat climbing back into the pontoon boat, bickering about whether or not Rickon should be punished for slipping a fish into Bran’s swim trunks. Their voices faltered as they noticed Petyr sitting there, Sansa beside him, shading her eyes as she frowned up at her parents. Ned stared openly at Petyr’s chest (fuck, he’d forgotten to put his shirt back on), clearly unable to look away from the remnants of the night they’d fought. Petyr hoped that the scar was making Ned feel guilty. At least then it would be good for something.

Cat stared for a few seconds as well, before looking away, struggling to find her place in the argument she’d been having with her husband. “I know we’re on vacation, but any other time we’d at least make him do extra chores,” she insisted.

Ned didn’t say anything, still staring, and Petyr got tired of being gawked at, despite how much it tickled him that Ned was so bothered by it. “My eyes are up here, Stark.”

Sansa had noticed her father’s odd behavior, observant as she was (though you’d have to be blind not to notice the way he was gawping, really) and she began to giggle, covering up her mouth as she fought her amusement. Cat looked like she was trying not to smile as Ned shook his head, clearing his mind of the guilt clouding his thoughts, before letting out a bark of laughter.

“You’re not my type, Baelish,” he said gruffly, heading over to the cooler and retrieving a can of root beer. He popped the top and drained half of the liquid inside before setting it down in a cup holder by the driver’s seat.

“Think I’ll put my shirt back on either way,” Petyr drawled, shrugging on his t-shirt.

Sansa let out another giggle and elbowed him, but Ned still seemed amused. Petyr was too, mainly because Ned had no idea that he was laughing at the jokes of a man who’d just fucked his daughter in public. Cat grabbed a water from the cooler and sat near her husband, clearly not ready to let go of the situation with Rickon. They argued for a bit longer, before it was decided that Rickon and Arya would unload the boats by themselves when they returned to the house for the day.

Once everyone had tired of swimming, they all piled back into the boats and went back to the house for a much needed bathroom break, as well as to pick up several inner tubes. In the afternoon, the water was always choppy, helped along by the increased number of boats, and perfect for tubing (or so Sansa explained). Since Petyr had no interest in tubing, and Sansa usually wasn’t a fan, they stayed on the pontoon boat with Cat, and Jon and Ygritte (who was doing a lot better, but not nearly well enough to be knocked about in the surf). The rest crowded onto the ski boat with Ned, clutching the inner tubes so that they wouldn’t go flying as the boat sped through the waves.

While Petyr wouldn’t try it himself, he had to admit that it was amusing to watch as the others went tubing. Ned and Robb rigged up three tubes behind the boat, making sure they were all even with each other to prevent unfortunate accidents with the rope. Then the fun began, starting with Arya, Rickon, and Bran. Ned started out slowly, then picked up speed, turning the boat this way and that, cresting over waves sure to unseat his children. The youngest Starks shrieked as the waves battered them and they careened into each other. It became an all out battle out there, as the kids tried to knock each other off of their tubes and their father tried to do the same.

They wiped out constantly, flipping end over end through the air, and smacking into the water with such force that Petyr was certain they were going to be incredibly sore before the day was through. And yet they only laughed and climbed on again, begging for more. If he’d thought he was masochistic, he had nothing on the youngest Starks.

Eventually, Rickon and Bran got back in the boat, replaced by Jeyne and Robb. Ned was gentler on this new pairing, likely because of Jeyne, and the wipeouts lessened considerably while she was out there. Once she tired of the excitement though, and Rickon took her place, Ned was far more brutal. And on and on they went, switching out occasionally so that everyone had their fair share of time out on the water, until they were thoroughly exhausted (at least temporarily).

Sansa sat next to Petyr the entire time, laughing as she watched her siblings, betting with Jon and Ygritte on who would wipe out next. Cat was quiet while she drove, though much less so when Jon took over, cringing every time one of her children wound up in the water, or came close to it. Petyr wondered at the toll it took on her, to see her children putting themselves at risk for the sake of enjoyment. Even if the risk wasn’t so high, in truth.

When they finally returned to the house, Petyr felt far more exhausted than he could have imagined, especially since he hadn’t done much more than swim (and have sex. Perhaps that might explain it…). He took a shower immediately after they got back, not wanting to change back into clean clothes without washing off the lake water. Sansa did the same (sadly in a different bathroom), though everyone else didn’t seem bothered.

He dressed in jeans, and a t-shirt that the bouncers and bartenders wore at The Mockingbird, black with the club’s logo (the outline of a mockingbird in dark purple and white), grabbing his fully charged phone from the nightstand before going out to look for Sansa. She wasn’t in her room, or the bathroom next to it, the mirrors still fogged up from her shower, but he found her lounging on a couch in the living room, reading a book on her phone. The rest of the Starks were nowhere to be seen, and he sank down gratefully next to her, enjoying the more adequate lumbar support that the couch offered.

Sansa’s hair was still damp, the strands softly curling around her bare shoulders. She shifted closer to him on the couch and he slipped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer still. They were still blissfully alone, the quiet room a nice change from the shrieks and yells of her siblings. Petyr watched her read for a moment before reaching over to cup her cheek, turning her gaze to meet his. She smiled, her eyes beckoning him to come closer, lips begging to be kissed, and who was he to deny them?

Mindful that they could be interrupted at any moment, Petyr kept himself restrained to kissing, starting out gentle and increasing pressure as she responded, tangling his tongue with hers when she initiated. How he could be so lost, simply from kissing Sansa, he wasn’t sure, but he wasn’t about to complain. Everything with her, every word, every touch, every sight and sound, was heightened, always, and intoxicating enough to drown every one of his senses, to dull even the smartest of men. And she did it all effortlessly. Whether every man was affected by her charms thus so, or if it was only him, he didn’t know, nor did he care to find out. All that mattered was that she was his. Only his. And he was happy.

Sansa finally pulled away, a soft sigh escaping her kiss reddened lips, and snuggled closer, her head resting on his shoulder, knees curved towards his. She continued reading, obviously not trusting herself to stop if they kept kissing, and he pulled his phone from his pocket and opened his email. Outside, the sun was still shining brightly, and he could hear the distant sounds of the Stark children playing some sort of sport. It was just after six, and more than likely they’d be figuring out dinner soon, but he hoped the peace would last, for just a little bit longer. Far apart from wanting Sansa all to himself, he wasn’t used to spending every moment around so many people. When he wasn’t at work (and even then, the majority of the time was spent in his office), he was wrapped in the comfortable cocoon of solitude. That need for familiarity wasn’t easily relinquished.

To his surprise, it was after seven before they saw anyone else. Ned and Cat walked into the room, deep in discussion, each clutching a can (beer in Ned’s case, and root beer in Cat’s). They stopped when they spotted Petyr and Sansa on the couch, and Cat actually smiled, raising her eyebrows. Sansa had fallen asleep about fifteen minutes ago, her phone dangling limply from her grasp.

Ned chuckled softly. “Well, at least one of them’s worn out. Though Sansa’s the least likely to cause trouble.”

“I don’t know where the rest of them get their energy,” Cat said, wandering over to the low table near the couch and taking a seat in one of the cushioned chairs surrounding it.

Ned followed his wife, pulling up a chair next to her and sighing. “I’m getting too old for these vacations.”

“Speak for yourself,” Cat replied, eyes dancing.

Ned snorted. “You’re just as tired as I am.”

“I am, but I will never be too old for our times here at the lake.” Cat turned to Petyr, nodding at Sansa. “Has she been asleep for long? I wanted to get dinner started, but I’d hate to wake her.”

“Not long.” Petyr checked the time on his phone. “Maybe twenty minutes ago.”

Cat frowned. “Perhaps I’ll wait a bit longer. I have no doubt that if they’re starving, they’ll find away to tide themselves over. We brought plenty of junk food.”

Ned laughed. “At the rate they’re going through it, we’ll be out by Wednesday.”

“I’d kill for their energy. And their metabolism. They eat like that every day, and I give in only on vacation.” Cat sighed and stared out the window. “Oh, honestly. Do you see what your children are doing out there?” she demanded of Ned.

Ned peered out the window and dissolved into laughter. Petyr was curious, but was reluctant to disturb Sansa, so he didn’t bother trying to catch a glimpse of the Stark children’s latest antics.

“You just had to buy those pool noodles,” Cat said, shaking her head.

Beside Petyr, Sansa woke with a start and dropped her phone on the floor. Petyr retrieved it for her as she stared at her parents, still caught in the haze of sleep. “What’s going on?” she mumbled, words slightly slurred.

“Your siblings are playing chicken on the water trampoline,” Cat said. “Arya is on Robb’s shoulders, and Ygritte is on Jon’s, and Jeyne, Bran and Rickon are all whacking them with pool noodles.”

Sansa looked thoughtful. “I could swear I had a dream about that once.”

“We’ll add the gift of prophecy to your many talents then,” Petyr teased.

She stuck her tongue out at him. “Well, if that’s the case, then I guess you’re buying a boat and naming it Heart and Soul, since that’s what I was dreaming about just now.”

He shrugged. “I guess you never know. Though that sounds more like a hint than an actual prophetic dream.”

“Could be,” Sansa said. “But you’ll never know for sure.”

Cat was looking at them thoughtfully. “You used to listen to that song a lot,” she said suddenly. “When you were young. Olenna once told me that your mother used to sing it to you.”

Petyr raised his eyebrows. “I did. And she did.” He paused. “The song has taken on a somewhat different meaning, lately.”

Sansa was eyeing him curiously. “And what did it mean originally?”

He was uncomfortable answering, with Ned and Cat in the room, but he really couldn’t deny Sansa anything. “My mother loved that song. She said she first heard it when she first met my father, that that was how she knew he was the one.”

Sansa stared at him, her lips tugging upwards at the corners. “Interesting,” she said.

Petyr knew exactly what she found so interesting about that statement, though he was grateful that her parents hadn’t the slightest clue. He’d rather not be so vulnerable around them. “She also used to sing it to me, at night,” he added, not really knowing why he was baring his soul further, and in front of Ned and Cat no less. “When she died, it became a source of comfort.”

Sansa looked like she might melt, and had they been alone, he would have kissed her. At the table, Ned shifted awkwardly in his chair, and Cat had a strange expression on her face. Petyr wished he’d kept his mouth shut. He wanted to win them over, so that family outings would be far less strenuous on the nerves, but not in this manner.

Sweet girl that she was, Sansa noticed his discomfort and decided to change the subject. “So, what’s the plan for dinner?”

“I hadn’t completely decided yet,” Cat said. “I’m planning BBQ chicken for tomorrow, on the fourth. But for tonight, we could have spaghetti, or I’ve got stuff for chicken enchiladas. Both would be fairly simple, though the spaghetti would take less time, since it doesn’t have to bake.”

“Spaghetti sounds good,” Sansa said. She turned to Petyr. “How about we make it? Let my parents have the night off.”

“Sure,” Petyr said agreeably. He enjoyed cooking with Sansa, and it likely meant more alone time together, if they were giving Ned and Cat the night off.

“You don’t have to do that, sunshine,” Cat protested.

“I know,” Sansa said. “I want to.” She got up, stretching lightly. “You’ll want a salad to go along with it?”

Cat nodded. “And I’ve got stuff for tomato bread as well.”

Sansa beamed. “Oh, yum!” She took Petyr’s hand as he stood up, and together they made their way to the kitchen.

Petyr had no idea what Cat had meant by tomato bread, nor did he know where anything really was in this kitchen, so he let Sansa take the lead. She grabbed a cutting board and a knife, along with a plastic container of vine ripened tomatoes, and told him to slice them fairly thinly while she retrieved everything else. As he worked (reminded once again of singing with her, back before they’d started dating), she popped an enormous slab of frozen ground beef in a large skillet and covered it with a lid, before grabbing a large pot and filling it with water from the sink. When he’d finished the tomatoes, she put them in a medium sized bowl and doused them with an italian inspired dressing called Garlic Expressions, then set them aside to marinate.

Sansa handed him an onion next, and grabbed some ciabatta from the counter and a bread knife, and for awhile they were chopping and slicing in silence, though by the smile on her face, Petyr suspected she was also listening to Heart and Soul in her mind. By the time they’d finished, the meat was thawed enough to work with, so Petyr added the onion to the skillet and set about cooking it through. Meanwhile, the water was boiling, so Sansa added an obscene amount of pasta to the pot and set a timer. They were just using jarred storebought sauce, but Cat had also brought along garlic cloves and a variety of spices, so Petyr doctored it up a bit while Sansa arranged the ciabatta slices on sheet trays and topped them with the marinated tomatoes and shredded parmesan cheese.

The timer dinged, signaling that the pasta was done, and Petyr quickly lowered the heat as he continued to baby the meat sauce. Sansa bustled around behind him, putting the tomato bread in the oven and grabbing premade salad mix from the fridge. Just as she was dumping the salad into a bowl, Cat wandered in, sniffing the air with a smile on her face.

“It smells wonderful,” she said appreciatively, moving to the cupboard to get plates for the table.

“The sauce is all Petyr’s doing,” Sansa told her, setting the salad bowl in the center of the table and returning to the fridge to grab an assortment of salad dressings. “He added garlic and a few other things while my back was turned. It’s excellent.”

Before Petyr could respond, Ned entered the room, his children, nephew, and their significant others close behind.

“Oh, gods,” Arya groaned, dropping into her seat. “I’m so hungry my stomach is eating itself.”

Sansa rolled her eyes. “You could have helped, if you were that hungry.”

Arya laughed. “I could go out and get some pine needles, if you really want my help.”

Rickon snorted and choked on his drink, a can of Coke he’d swiped from the cooler.

Bran pounded him on the back and grinned at Sansa. “I don’t know, Arya’s help might actually improve the meal.”

“I’m a great cook,” Sansa said, looking affronted. “And besides, I didn’t make the spaghetti. Petyr did.”

The Stark siblings all exchanged a look. Clearly they didn’t think he could cook something as simple as spaghetti. He just shrugged and grabbed a water glass, filling it from the spout in the fridge. They’d find out soon enough.

They all found places at the table, then served themselves. The youngest Starks piled copious amounts of parmesan atop their spaghetti before even tasting it, but looked pleasantly surprised nonetheless. Nearly everyone was unusually quiet, too busy enjoying their food to say much. Apparently they’d decided he was a good cook after all. A small victory, but a victory all the same.

Petyr tried the tomato bread with a wary curiosity, and had to admit that it was delicious, a nice variation on your typical bruschetta. He definitely wouldn’t mind making it again, at home with Sansa. Really, he shouldn’t have been surprised. Sansa had good taste, in many aspects of life. He would just have to learn to trust her judgement more, rather than relying on only himself, as he’d done for much of his life.

When everyone had eaten their fill, they all went outside to sit around the bonfire. Cat brought out the fixings for s’mores, and Ned turned the radio on, everyone chatting happily about the day’s accomplishments, and what they hoped to do tomorrow. Sansa had managed to secure the most comfortable seating for them once more, the cushioned swing, and Petyr sat next to her, gently rocking the swing as she leaned against his shoulder. He had no interest in s’mores, but when she asked him to make her one, he happily complied, roasting the marshmallow to perfection before capturing it between chocolate and graham crackers. When she’d finished it, she had a small smear of chocolate left on her lip, and he reached over to wipe it away, before sucking the chocolate off of his finger.

Sansa looked more than a little aroused when he’d done so, but with everyone around, they couldn’t really do anything about it. Petyr settled for smirking at her before looking away, not trusting himself to keep his composure if he kept watching the way her teeth gnawed at her bottom lip. The song on the radio changed, and an iconic melody wafted from its speakers. Beside him, Sansa straightened up, humming along, and he couldn’t help but do the same. When the lyrics started, she began to sing, and everyone quieted, listening to her sing along to ‘Africa’ by Toto.

She reached the chorus, her eyes locked with his, inviting him to join her, and who was he to refuse? He knew the lyrics, and they sang so well together.

“It's gonna take a lot to take me away from you  
There's nothing that a hundred men or more could ever do  
I bless the rains down in Africa  
Gonna take some time to do the things we never had.”

They sang together through the rest of the song, their voices harmonizing together perfectly, and when they’d finished, she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him, hard. All around them, the silence seemed stunned, clearly noticeable, even as the radio switched to another song. But Petyr didn’t care. He kissed her back, pulling away before they pushed her parents too far. Sansa’s eyes were shining, and really any fool could see how happy she was. Even Ned Stark, and Cat, and the rest of their brood.

And he was happy too.

 

[Africa by Toto](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FTQbiNvZqaY)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed the fluffy awkwardness! 
> 
> Also, the end might have been inspired by a scene from New Girl lol. I included a link to the song on youtube as well :).
> 
> A bit of drama for you is coming in the next chapter ;)


	28. Chapter 28

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Drama drama drama. Arya bugs Petyr. Petyr gets unwelcome news.

Sansa couldn’t help sneaking into Petyr’s room again that night, and far earlier than she’d done before. It was just after midnight, and all of her siblings were still awake, playing videogames in the basement, though their parents had turned in around eleven. Petyr had gone back to his room soon after, though Sansa knew he wouldn’t be going to sleep just yet. He’d simply tired of hearing her siblings squabble as they faced off in racing and fighting games.

She’d only been separated from him for half an hour, keeping busy getting ready for bed and making sure her parents were sound asleep, before she padded up the stairs to the third floor. He was working on his laptop when she slipped inside, but he set it aside immediately and was on his feet before she’d even finished closing the door. His mouth found hers, and she blindly fumbled for the lock of his door, achieving her goal just before he tugged her away, towards the bed.

Her feet left the floor and she dropped lightly on the mattress. She bounced once, grinning up at him as he quickly joined her, his hands already slipping under her pajamas as they kissed. It wasn’t long before they were both naked, and he was inside her, their insatiable need for one another making them skip over foreplay for once. Sansa had wound up on top, as he sat with his back against the headboard, and she moved her hips in practiced rhythm as he kneaded her breasts.

Panting, she increased her pace, a moan nearly escaping her lips before Petyr reached up and clapped his hand over her mouth. He planted his feet on the bed, bucking up into her, gritting his teeth from the combined effort of fucking her and keeping them both quiet. Sansa whimpered against his hand, loving the way he filled her, over and over and over again, and then with one hard thrust she shattered. He came at the same time, mumbling something that sounded like “Fuck, Sansa,” only the words ran together as he strained to contain them, so it sounded more like ‘Fucksa.’

Sansa couldn’t help the laughter bubbling out of her lungs then, and she shook with combined mirth and the aftershocks of her orgasm. Petyr didn’t seem disconcerted by her behavior, confident that she wasn’t laughing at his skills in the bedroom, which were more than satisfactory (quite a lot more, in fact). Instead, he just held her close and waited for the laughter to subside, even as it continued to hiccup out of her in short little bursts. She blamed that for how tired she was. Sometimes, when she was as tired as she was right then, she laughed continuously for the most ridiculous reasons.

When she could speak again, she explained just what was so funny, prompting an eyeroll from him, though it was paired with a smirk and an affectionate look in his eyes. They decided to go to sleep soon after, both exhausted from spending the day out on the lake, with her family. Before she fell asleep, he whispered that he loved her, and she snuggled closer as she returned the sentiment. She really did love him. So much. This vacation had only brought them closer together, rather than driving them apart, as she had feared. She really was starting to think that this could work, that she could spend the rest of her life with Petyr, making love, singing and cooking together. Watching geeky shows and movies. It would be absolutely perfect.

The next morning, Sansa left before anyone else had woken up, returning to her own room with great reluctance. Not only was she loath to leave Petyr, but she’d started to notice that she slept far better in his presence than without. Yet another sign that told her this was it. This was the one she’d been waiting for. It was scary and wonderful, all at once, and gods, she loved it.

She didn’t wake up again until she heard her siblings barreling through the house, acting wild and uncivilized, as usual. It was the fourth, and everyone was excited for that day’s events. There would be fireworks everywhere, both at their house and all around the lakes. People in Indiana, at least in Angola, often got their own stashes of fireworks, both legal and otherwise. And of course the Stark children brought their own collection to set off, though as far as Ned and Cat knew, none of it was illegal. Sometimes, they’d go out on the lake to watch the fireworks bursting around them for awhile first, and then return and provide their own entertainment. Other times they were content to watch the fireworks from the comforts of their backyard, while they engaged in their own little pyrotechnic display at the same time. 

Sansa didn’t bother getting dressed, since Petyr of course had already seen her in her pajamas, and most of her family showed up for breakfast in either their pajamas or their swimsuits. She did, however, brush her hair and put it in a single long braid down her back, and make sure she didn’t have any sleep crusted in the corners of her eyes. Once she was satisfied, she returned to Petyr’s room and knocked (she would have just gone right in, but Rickon was just leaving his room when she got there). Petyr was there almost instantly, already dressed, just like he had been yesterday. Clearly he didn’t want to come down for breakfast in his boxers or swimsuit, and she supposed she couldn’t blame him there.

They went downstairs and joined the others in the already crowded kitchen. Her parents had made an enormous omelet for everyone to share, complete with sausage, peppers and onions, potatoes, and loads of gooey cheese. Sansa dished out some for herself and Petyr while he got them each a glass of orange juice, and they sat down together in the only seats left, between her father and Arya. Since Sansa thought it best not to tempt fate, she sat next to her father, even though that left Petyr at the mercy of Arya. Luckily her sister seemed too absorbed in stuffing her face to say much.

Or so she hoped.

“So you’re my sister’s boss and boyfriend, huh?” Arya asked bluntly.

Petyr seemed unruffled as he forked up some eggs. “I pay her salary, but that’s the extent of it. She lives with my brother, and takes care of Olenna.”

“And you’re like what, somewhere around the same age as my parents, right?” Arya said, ignoring Sansa’s pointed glares.

“A bit younger,” Petyr replied, taking one more bite and setting down his fork. He was about to continue when his phone beeped and he slipped it from his pocket, checking the text that had just flashed onto the screen.

“Still,” Arya pressed. “Don’t you think you’re--”

“Arya!” Sansa snapped, watching as Petyr frowned down at the screen. “Enough.”

“What, I can’t ask questions?” Arya asked innocently.

Petyr got up from the table. “Excuse me,” he said tensely, before disappearing into the other room.

Sansa watched him go, wondering what on earth was wrong. Perhaps something to do with Joffrey? But the club hadn’t even opened yet…. 

Worried, and angry at Arya for being a nosy brat, Sansa whirled on her sister. “What’s it to you, who I date?”

Arya rolled her eyes. “I was just talking to the guy. Not my fault if he can’t take it.”

“You were not, and he didn’t leave because of you,” Sansa shot back. 

“Uh huh. You know, you need to grow a thicker skin if you’re going to keep dating him. People are bound to ask questions,” Arya said airily, getting up to heap another mountain of eggs on her plate.

“Enough,” Ned said, voice loud enough that everyone glanced his way, startled. “Arya, cut it out.”

Arya stomped back over to the table. “What? I’m just saying what we’re all thinking! You hate that they are together.”

“I said enough,” Ned snapped. “I may not entirely support their relationship, but he’s still a guest in our house, and for that, and for your sister’s sake, I will not do anything to exacerbate the matter. I will be polite, and I expect ALL of you to do the same.”

Everyone was quiet for a few minutes, and Sansa stared glumly down at her plate, her good mood over the holiday sapped from her veins. In the silence that followed, she suddenly noticed that she could hear Petyr, still on the phone. He sounded upset.

“What do you mean, she won’t leave?”

Around Sansa, everyone else glanced up from their food, exchanging bewildered looks. Clearly they could hear Petyr too.

“Fuck,” he cursed. “No, I’m not coming back there to sort it out. Maybe she’ll get tired of waiting.” He paused, waiting as the person on the other line said something, then gave a hollow laugh. “Right. Wishful thinking.” A pause. “No, absolutely not. Don’t tell her where I am. Just… I don’t know, ignore her for the moment. I’ll contact my lawyer.”

Sansa felt dread building in the pit of her stomach. Somehow she knew just what the problem was, even if no one else did.

She heard Petyr cursing again, as his lawyer failed to answer, then listened as he left a voicemail requesting that they call him back immediately. A few minutes later, he returned to the kitchen, and didn’t fail to notice the way nearly everyone was avoiding his gaze. Frowning, he picked up his empty plate and glass and set them in the sink, before grabbing a beer from the fridge, popping the top, and downing half of it in one gulp. 

Sansa wasn’t sure if she should say anything, but she couldn’t just sit there, so she got up and took her dishes to the sink, turning to see him finish the beer and crumple it in his fist. Ok, now she was certain of the cause. She was about to ask him if he wanted to go get some fresh air when he spoke, words directed towards her mother.

“Your sister doesn’t know about this place, does she?”

And of course. No wonder he was upset.

Cat blanched. “What, Lysa? No. She and I aren’t close, and this house comes from Ned’s side of the family.”

Petyr nodded. “Good,” he said distractedly, running his hand through his hair before pulling out his phone again, as if pleading for it to ring.

“What does Aunt Lysa have to do with anything?” Rickon asked curiously. 

Petyr just stared mutely down at his phone, so Sansa answered for him. “It’s complicated.”

Cat looked stricken. “Wait… Am I to understand that--” She cut herself off and then stood. “Alright, all of you, go get ready for the boat. We’ll meet you outside shortly.”

Everyone left, save for Sansa and Petyr, and her parents, though not without some grumbling along the way. When the kitchen had emptied, Cat exchanged a look with Ned before continuing on her previous train of thought. 

“Has Lysa kept in contact with you, over the years?” Cat asked hesitantly.

Petyr let out a bitter laugh. “In a manner of speaking. I’ve done my best to keep her at bay, but lawyers and restraining orders have done little to keep the peace. Eventually Jon Arryn moved her and Robin across the country, but it seems even that wasn’t enough. She’s at The Mockingbird in New York as we speak. Demanding to see me.”

Sansa was horrified. “What are you going to do?”

“Well, I’m not returning to New York anytime soon, that’s for sure. And I’m trying to get ahold of my lawyer. Beyond that, I’m not sure.” He scrubbed a hand over his face and groaned. “Sweetling, you’re going to have to go out without me. I can’t miss this call.”

Sansa shook her head. “No, it’s fine. I’ll stay with you.”

“If you’re sure. I wouldn’t want to keep you,” Petyr said hesitantly.

Her parents were deep in silent conversation for a moment and then Cat turned to them. “I’m going to give Lysa’s husband a call,” she said. “I’m certain he has no idea of his wife’s current whereabouts. Once he knows, he’ll take care of it.”

Petyr looked skeptical, but he nodded. “Thank you.”

Cat smiled at him then took Ned’s hand. “Come,” she said. “Go get the boat ready and I’ll join you once I’ve talked to Jon.”

They left the kitchen and Sansa immediately slipped into Petyr’s arms, hugging him close. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered.

Petyr sighed. “Don’t be. It happens occasionally. Once it’s sorted, I’ll be fine. I just hate to think of the damage she could be doing to my club. Last time she threw a chair through a window, and smashed several expensive bottle of liquor. I’ll have to close it for patrons until she leaves.”

Sansa kissed his cheek, then nuzzled it with her nose. “Let’s go watch something while we wait. Take your mind off of it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A note- Petyr obviously isn't as damaged and closed off in this fic. Unlike in canon, after everything went down with the Tullys, he still had a family to turn to and to count on (and didn't have to deal with his second family casting him out). Olenna and the rest kept him sane and stable, helped him through it, and Littlefinger was never really created. so if he seems ooc (from his canon self) at times, this is why. Not to say he's not still struggling with what happened, but the impact wasn't nearly as bad, and he actually had a support system to help him through it. I think part of what wrecked him so badly in canon was that he lost so much more than his worldview and his hopes for happiness with Cat, but also his new family, and afterwards he was all alone (save for his father, I think, but then he died too and I never got the impression they were close). So this is definitely a more well adjusted Petyr, which I think is quite fitting for this fluffy romcom :)
> 
> I hope you liked the chapter!


	29. Chapter 29

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Petyr and the Starks celebrate the fourth of July with food and fireworks.

Though Petyr disliked the events that had led to it, he enjoyed having some time alone with Sansa, the lake house abandoned save for the two of them. His lawyer finally called back a little bit after ten, and Cat had managed to contact Jon Arryn before she left as well. With their combined efforts, Lysa was guaranteed to be back home by the end of the day, a prospect he was most grateful for.

The others were due back for lunch, around noon, and Petyr made use of his time alone with Sansa wisely, fucking her out in the open in several rooms, including the kitchen, the living room, and the third floor balcony. In between their frequent couplings, they watched Indiana Jones, having spotted the first movie in the digital cable tv guide while scrolling through. By the time the Stark family returned for lunch, Petyr was in a far better mood.

He found that the debacle with Lysa also had another added perk as well. Forget polite, Ned and Cat were being downright nice to him. And Arya had stopped pestering him as well. Petyr wondered how much Ned and the others knew, truly. Had Cat (or Sansa) told them the extent of Lysa’s dealings with him? He hoped not. There were some things he’d rather keep private. He wasn’t exactly happy that they had seen him lose his cool earlier. A rare crack in the facade. Though in truth those cracks had come more frequently, as of late. 

They had BLTs for lunch, along with fresh fruit, chips, and cookies. The meal was unusually quiet, even after nearly everyone had finished, and Petyr suspected it had something to do with him. Either they were all massively curious about his past with their aunt, or they already knew, and were pitying him. That or Ned and Cat had chewed Arya out for her questions earlier (he hadn’t minded, really. Her opinion was of little consequence to him. Only Sansa’s mattered, truly) and now they were all sticking to that old adage ‘if you can’t say anything nice, don’t say anything at all.’ 

Or perhaps it was a combination of both. He hoped that pity had little part in their rare moments of silence though. If there was one thing he really hated, it was the idea of anyone pitying him. Pity often came from a place of condescension, and he had had quite enough of others looking down their noses at him (especially when their supposed superiority wasn’t earned, but rather based upon flimsy notions of entitlement from birth or family connections). 

Once everyone had finished eating, they all piled onto the boats. It seemed more tubing was on the agenda today, so Petyr wound up with Sansa, Jeyne, Robb, and Cat on the pontoon boat. The rest were on the ski boat, with hopes of being upended countless times, in the most spectacular of wipeouts. Apparently Ygritte was feeling well enough today to join in the fun, either used to her morning sickness or having been granted a small reprieve, and she and Jon were the first up, along with Rickon. The others took bets on who would make the ‘wipeout hall of fame’ that day, which would be decided after they returned to the house and went through the pictures taken (mostly by Bran this time, who had quite the talent for photography). 

At first, Robb drove alongside Ned for awhile, so that everyone could watch the others tubing, but eventually it became too hot, even with the wind, so they stopped the pontoon boat at another sandbar. Everyone in the pontoon boat jumped in the water to cool off, watching Ned pulling the tubers from a distance when they could. Or, at least Cat watched them. Robb and Jeyne were lounging in half submerged mesh and inflatable water floats, eyes closed, and Petyr was doing the same with Sansa, some distance away. Cat hovered in between them, standing by the boat, neck craned as she watched her children.

It was actually quite a peaceful moment, sitting there in the water, the waves gently rocking them as the sun warmed their skin. Sansa had her fingers threaded through his, and their shoulders kept brushing as the water knocked them around. They talked for awhile, quietly, about matters mostly inconsequential. She hadn’t pushed him to talk about Lysa, sensing he needed space, and for that he was grateful. He’d already said all there was to say, concerning Lysa anyway. Anything else would simply be rehashing the matter, and that didn’t do him, or anyone else, any good. Best just to solve the problem in what ways he could, and move on.

When the others had tired of tubing, they stopped at the sandbar as well, and began a game of frisbee that involved tackling each other and pulling someone under every chance they got. Cat and Ned stayed clear of the game this time, as did Petyr and Sansa, and after shouting herself hoarse as she tried to stop their rough play, Cat went back into the boat with a headache. Ned followed his wife onto the boat after a few minutes, giving up scolding his children as a lost cause. 

Petyr and Sansa kept well away from the game, wary of getting hit or having to fight off attempted drownings, though Petyr watched it with a fair amount of interest. Of all of them, Ygritte and Arya seemed the most vicious, both exceptional at sneaking around under water and pulling the others down under with quick yanks of their victim’s ankles. There didn’t seem to be any teams, rather it was a free for all, every man for himself so to speak, and the only goal was to fuck over as many people as possible. 

For his part, Robb never tried to dunk his girlfriend (actually Jeyne was the only one completely spared from being pulled under, but then she didn’t attack anyone either), or any of the girls, really, though Bran and Rickon weren’t shy about trying to take down Arya. At first, Jon avoided dunking his wife, but after she yanked him under several times in a row and threatened to keep doing it if he didn’t stop treating her differently, he relented, though only halfheartedly. 

As the game grew more heated, Petyr edged himself and Sansa farther and farther away, finally putting the pontoon boat in between them and the players. The frisbee had sailed far too close to them for comfort, several times, and he’d grown tired of watching them eventually, anyway. He’d learned as much as he could from their interactions, and any more time spent studying them would only reinforce what he already knew. Not that he really needed to know too much about the Stark children, anyway. Besides Sansa of course.

Out of sight of everyone, Sansa moved closer, swinging her legs over his lap, though she was still supported by her own float. Her mouth found his, and for a long time, they just bobbed along in the shallows, kissing, and nothing more. Petyr strangely didn’t need for it to go beyond that for the moment, just content with the feel of her lips against his. Whether that was because they’d already fucked enough today to get it out of their system, or because just kissing her was more satisfying than fucking anyone else, he didn’t know. Probably both. 

Definitely both.

They only stopped when the sounds of the others grew closer, a sign that they were getting ready to go back to the house. Petyr followed Sansa back into the pontoon boat and dried off, settling back into his seat as Robb drove them back, following Ned in the ski boat. Once they arrived, he didn’t linger to help, instead sneaking off with Sansa to the third floor bathroom, where they showered (among other things) together. Of course, they had to be quiet, but luckily everyone else had stayed outside, the Stark siblings, Jon, Jeyne, and Ygritte swimming and making use of the water trampoline, and Ned and Cat lounging on the deck.

Clean once more, they dressed and joined her parents (though honestly Petyr would have rather kept Sansa in his room, all to himself). Ned and Cat were quiet on the deck, Ned reading the paper, and Cat watching her children with a furrowed brow (they were play fighting again, grappling from atop the shoulders of the others). Sansa ambled over to the porch swing and pulled him down to sit next to her, lazily flinging her legs up over his lap and sighing, though it was out of contentment rather than consternation. 

“So, what are you planning for dinner tonight?” she asked Cat, wiggling her toes where they rested on his thighs.

Cat turned to face her daughter, frown deepening for a moment as she noticed just how they were sitting. Petyr fought the urge to roll his eyes. Really, they’d done far worse. “BBQ chicken,” she said. “And cheesy potatoes.”

“That’s it?” Sansa asked, sounding skeptical. Petyr couldn’t blame her. Sansa’s siblings could pack away an obscene amount of food.

Cat smiled. “Corn on the cob and pasta salad too. And root beer floats. Possibly brownies, if you want to make them.”

Sansa nodded. “Of course. When are you thinking of getting started?”

“Soon. I made the pasta salad last night, but we’ll need to husk the corn. And the chicken will take awhile, on the grill,” Cat replied, giving Ned a pointed look.

Ned grunted and lowered his newspaper. “I take it that’s my cue,” he said, his chair scraping back from the table as he got to his feet.

Cat stood as well. “If I get the corn and bring it out, will you two husk it?”

Sansa nodded. “Sure.”

It was dull work, really, but hell he could suffer through nearly any activity with Sansa by his side. She was less meticulous than him about removing every last strand of corn silk, and kept laughing when he went over the ones she’d already husked, prying stray pieces from the golden kernels. When they’d finally finished, they brought the corn back inside, depositing the empty husks in the trash on their way to the kitchen.

Cat was busy mixing brownie batter when they came in, the oven already hot, cheesy potatoes visible through the little window set into the door. “I thought perhaps you two had forgotten the corn was for dinner tonight,” she commented.

Sansa laughed and elbowed Petyr. “Well someone just had to get every last bit of corn silk from each cob,” she teased.

Petyr just shrugged. “Perfection takes time.”

Sansa laughed again and together they finished preparing the corn while Cat continued to work on the brownies. Outside, Ned was already hard at work grilling the chicken, an assortment of breasts and thighs (bone in and out). Once the corn was cooking (in the microwave, of all places), Cat asked them to set up the tables so they could eat outside. They didn’t have one long table outside like they did inside, but there were several smaller square tables out on the patio that only needed to be set end to end, chairs spaced evenly around the finished product. That accomplished, they grabbed the heavy duty paper plates, cups, napkins and plastic silverware and set them at one end, the breeze fine enough that they wouldn’t have to worry about losing any left unattended.

Since the chicken still needed a bit more time, Petyr helped Sansa start another fire in the firepit and they dragged the porch swing close to the flames so that they could relax while they waited. Shrieks were still carrying up to the house from the water, the semi restrained fight now turned to an all out brawl, foam pool noodles their weapon of choice. Petyr watched them for a moment, amused, until Sansa leaned in and kissed him and he forgot everything else. He’d never tire of her lips, nor did he want to. They were both acting far younger than their years, but love made foolish children of them all, so what did it matter, really?

Unfortunately his wits had rather left him by the time Ned grunted, breaking the spell. Normally Petyr would have kept his ears alert for any signs of Sansa’s family, but apparently he’d blocked everything out, lost to her spell. They both jumped and broke away as Ned set a large platter of BBQ chicken on the table with more force than was strictly necessary. Petyr shifted on the swing next to Sansa, trying to hide the evidence of his painfully hard erection as Sansa let out an embarrassed laugh.

“Looks good,” she said, nodding toward the chicken.

Ned only grunted again, face reddened from repressed irritation, and stomped back into the house. Sansa stared after him for a moment before sighing. Apparently they’d just undone any progress they had made earlier that day. They’d have to make more of an effort at self restraint. Usually that wouldn’t be difficult for Petyr in the slightest, but Sansa had a way of shaking him to the core, until everything he’d ever known about himself was turned on its head, and he was just a writhing mess of hormones awaiting her beck and call. Fuck, he loved her though.

Ned was back outside again soon enough (fortunately Petyr’s affection for Sansa was considerably less noticeable by then), though he ignored them both and went down to the water to summon his children. Cat wasn’t far behind, an enormous bowl of pasta salad tucked under one arm, and a pitcher of strawberry lemonade in the other. 

“If you would, could you get the corn and the potatoes?” Cat asked, carefully setting both on the table.

Sansa nodded, and Petyr followed her into the house to grab the rest of the food. The potatoes were still quite hot, fresh from the oven, so Petyr used potholders to take it outside. Everyone was gathered around the food when they came back out, many still dripping wet as they took their places at the table. They dug into their meal without preamble, and Petyr enjoyed the silence their hunger briefly afforded him, before the youngest Starks began teasing each other over their little battle out on the water.

Once everyone had eaten their fill of chicken and the like, everyone except for Ned and Cat, and Petyr and Sansa, cleaned up, before coming back outside with huge packages of assorted fireworks. Ned joined his children, and Jon and Ygritte as they set about their little show of pyrotechnic delights, and Jeyne held back with Cat, both wringing their hands with anxiety over the possibility of something going wrong. Sansa didn’t seem bothered, only curling up next to Petyr on the swing, away from the smoke and danger, watching with him as all around them a light show sparked and fizzled with endless color, accompanied by countless thundering cracks and booms.

Arya seemed particularly fond of sneaking about with a stash of smoke bombs and those little fireworks that popped when you threw them at the ground, going out of her way to startle everyone. The older boys (Jon and Robb), Ygritte (who seemed to love fireworks as much as the rest of them) and Ned, focused on the biggest fireworks, the ones that most likely weren’t exactly legal for private citizens. Meanwhile, Rickon and Bran, who weren’t allowed near the more dangerous fireworks, kept lighting sparklers and dueling with them, startling every once in awhile as Arya caught them off guard. 

Cat shrieked more than once as Arya tossed a smoke bomb her way, or Ned or Robb did something more than a little risky, but the others just laughed it off. Arya tried to scare Petyr and Sansa several times, with little success, since Petyr made sure to keep his eye on her, always. Each time she failed to scare them, she left with a slight sulk and a fiercer determination than ever to get the best of them before the night was done. Petyr vowed not to let that happen.

As the night darkened, and the fireworks dwindled, Cat went back inside with Jeyne, returning with a plate of brownies and everything needed for root beer floats. Sansa stayed on the swing while Petyr fixed frothy drinks for both of them and put some brownies on a plate, making sure all the while to watch for her sneaky little sister. Luckily, Arya spotted the dessert soon enough and took a small break from mischief in order to stuff her gullet. 

The others, save for Bran and Rickon, who’d nearly run out of sparklers, kept shooting off fireworks until nothing remained, before making their own floats. It was briefly content, sitting there around the fire, sipping on fizzy melted ice cream with the Starks, Sansa right by Petyr’s side, as she should be. But then, he’d let his guard down, only for a moment, and that’s when Arya struck, lobbing a smoke bomb right in front of them.

Of course, with one blow, she’d not only ruined their good time, but that of her entire family’s, since they were all grouped together by the fire. Everyone scattered immediately, coughing, and Arya was sternly reprimanded by her parents as they all waited for the smoke to clear. Having lost his interest in remaining outside, Petyr tugged Sansa back into the safety of the confines of the house, knowing that Arya wouldn’t dare try anything with fireworks indoors. 

They settled in the living room instead, and Sansa switched on what had become their go to source of entertainment, Doctor Who. As they relaxed on the sofa, the distant sounds of her family filtering occasionally through the room, Petyr realized that despite Arya, and Lysa, he’d never had such a good holiday. Not in years, anyway. Sure, he’d enjoyed the holidays with Olenna and Varys, Loras and Margaery well enough (and Luthor, and Mace and his wife, when they were still living, as well as his birth parents, long ago) but something had always been missing. He’d felt out of place, even around those that loved him. It had grown worse after he’d been through that whole mess with the Tullys. 

But here, with Sansa, even with her crazy family insistent on making trouble, he was happy. And it was only the fourth of July, one of the lesser hyped holidays of the year. The biggest were yet to come. Halloween and Thanksgiving. Christmas. Even New Years Eve. Petyr looked forward to them all now, knowing he’d have Sansa for each of them. She had brought the magic back into his life, the childlike wonder and hope that he had been missing for so long. He couldn’t wait to surprise her on Christmas, to kiss her at midnight to ring in the New Year. Hell, he was even looking forward to Valentine’s Day with her, a holiday he’d always abhorred. Strange, how one person could change your entire outlook on life. So very strange. And so very wonderful, as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A nice fluffy chapter before more drama hits :). Lysa has been dealt with (at least for now), but she's not the only potential source :). I think you'll like how it plays out, and I look forward to your thoughts.
> 
> Also, I know some were hoping for shower sex in more detail, and I promise it's coming ;).
> 
> And finally, updates might be a bit slower, because this girl is attempting Nanowrimo for her original works, but I've written ahead so it shouldn't be too much of an issue. If you can't wait to read more PxS, I've also got loads of other works on here *wink wink*
> 
> Thanks for all of your support and encouragement, on this work and my others, and on tumblr as well. I cherish every comment (and kudos) I receive, and I do mean every comment! You all help keep me writing, and make me a better writer, and your feedback truly makes my days brighter. A special thanks too, to my frequent commenters. You know who you are and I love you <333


	30. Chapter 30

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s a rainy day, so the Starks (and Petyr) go out to play.

Wednesday passed by similarly to Monday and Tuesday, the sun bright and hot in a nearly cloudless sky, shining down on them all as they enjoyed their time out on the water. Sansa showed up her siblings once more with her skiing skills, and Robb finally managed what he’d been trying to do for years, skipping along the waves on only one ski with the most brilliant smile plastered over his features. Their parents had both taken a turn out on the water as well, skiing and kneeboarding, though both had regretted it later, spending that evening with ice packs on their sore muscles after taking several doses of Tylenol.

Petyr had declined to give skiing a try, nor did he venture out into the water besides going swimming with the rest of them, but Sansa really couldn’t blame him for that. He was in a difficult situation, surrounded by her not entirely welcoming family, and had little inclination to make a fool of himself as he attempted water sports for the first time. It was enough that he had come along with her, that he was there to watch her ski, to keep her company on the boat while her siblings wiped out over and over and over again, always coming back for more.

Unfortunately, on Thursday, the streak of good weather had been broken, the sky darkening unforgivingly, fat storm clouds full to bursting with rain. Ned and Cat refused to take them out on the water with the impending storms threatening to start any moment now, though they didn’t stop the kids from racing around outside instead, armed with super soakers and water balloons. Once the downpour came, however, with a side of crackling thunder and lightning, everyone tore back inside, breathless and soaked to the bone.

Sansa hadn’t joined her siblings outside, instead choosing to sit in the living room with Petyr and her parents. The television was on, turned to the weather station, though only Cat was paying attention to it. Petyr had his laptop perched on his lap, fingers tapping away at the keys, hard at work on the matters he had neglected thus far on their vacation. Sansa sat next to him, reading a book, and Ned was pretending to read the paper, though his eyes kept straying to where they were sitting, as if he was just waiting for them to act inappropriately. She almost wanted to do something, to shove aside the laptop and straddle Petyr’s lap in a rare act of defiance.

Almost.

When her siblings came hurtling back inside, the fragile peace they’d been sitting in was broken, and there was a cacophony of noise as they scrambled for towels, complaining about the foul weather.

“Now what are we going to do,” Arya moaned, scrubbing her beach towel through her damp hair.

Cat muted the tv, but left it on, so that she could still keep an eye on the radar. “There’s plenty to do inside,” she said cheerfully. “We’ve still got all our old board games.”

“Mom, nooo,” Rickon groaned.

The rest of Sansa’s siblings nodded in agreement with Rickon, and Cat looked hurt. “You used to love playing board games with your father and me.”

“Yeah, but that was before we knew any better,” Arya said, dumping her wet towel on the floor, then picking it back up when her mother glared at her.

Robb scrolled through his phone, face brightening. “Hey! They’ve got a place with a laser tag arena here.”

Immediately, everyone but Petyr, Sansa, and her parents, crowded around Robb, looking eagerly down at the small screen. “It says they’re open. Discounts for large parties,” he said, glancing up at the others. “Whaddya say?”

Arya, Rickon, Jon, Ygritte, and Bran all nodded emphatically, though Jeyne looked a little less than thrilled. She really wasn’t the type to enjoy laser tag (or most of the stuff they were doing during this vacation, but she put up a good front for Robb’s sake).

Ned and Cat exchanged looks. “I suppose,” said Ned slowly. “We can all go, check it out.”

Sansa stole a look at Petyr, but couldn’t read the expression on his face. He looked in fact like he hadn’t been paying the slightest bit of attention to their conversation, eyes still focused intently on his work, but she knew he’d heard every word. Her siblings all roared their approval, then scattered to change into drier clothes for their excursion.

Cat rose from her seat, looking disgruntled. “I’d rather hoped to stay behind.”

Ned frowned at his wife. “What, you don’t like laser tag?”

“Really?” Cat gave him an exasperated look. “Honestly, Ned.”

“Well, you don’t have to come. Stay here and relax. Read a good book,” Ned offered. “They don’t really need looking after anyway.”

“Then why are you going?” Cat asked, raising her eyebrows.

“Because I want to show them their old man’s still got it,” Ned said, puffing out his chest.

“We’ll see about that,” said Arya, bouncing back into the room. “Game on.”

Ned laughed, then turned to look at Sansa. “Are you coming?”

Sansa bit her lip. Laser tag really wasn’t her thing, and Petyr probably wouldn’t want to go anyway. But she hadn’t spent a whole lot of time with her siblings on this trip so far. Perhaps she should go. “I don’t know,” she said finally, turning to give Petyr a questioning look. “Do you want to go?”

Petyr shrugged. “Up to you, sweetling. I don’t mind either way.”

“Oh, you gotta,” Arya needled. “You can’t miss seeing us destroy Dad.”

“Alright,” Sansa said, though she felt like she might regret her decision later.

They were on their way in the next half hour, stopping by a McDonald’s along the way for a quick lunch. Sansa and Petyr rode with Robb and Jeyne, and as they neared the laser tag arena, she felt her apprehension growing. This was starting to seem like a really bad idea. She was terrible at games like these (though really, she hadn’t played laser tag or paintball enough to really gain skill in the area in the first place) and her siblings were all more than competent. Not to mention, she doubted Petyr had ever done anything like this before either. They’d both be sitting ducks, easy pickings for Arya and all the rest.

Due to their sizable party and a bit of luck, they were able to get a room to themselves. Despite the rain, it seemed not too many people wanted to play laser tag at noon on a Thursday. Everyone was equipped with vests and guns, and they were off, disappearing among the obstacles in the darkened room. They’d decided to do a kind of last man standing game first, so it was every man (or woman) for themselves. Though Sansa stuck close to Petyr anyway, quietly following him through the room, senses hyper aware as she waited to be taken out of the game.

Apparently he had some sense of what to do, because he lead her confidently through the room, taking her directly to a hidden nook, high up in one of the various structures placed about the room. The spot was a bit snug for the both of them, and a bit tricky to get to, but soon they were safely sequestered in a hidden alcove, with a great vantage point of the goings on down below. Sansa caught Petyr’s smirk, even in the darkened room, as he spotted their first target and took careful aim.

A beam of light, and Bran let out a frustrated grumble, whirling around to see who had shot him, gun poised. Petyr shot Bran again as he glanced around in confusion, prompting another curse to fall from her brother’s lips. When Bran couldn’t find anyone, he darted back into the shadows, mindful that whoever was sniping him had nearly taken him out of the game.

The next victim to scurry into view was Jeyne, and Sansa didn’t feel bad about helping Petyr quickly end Jeyne’s ‘life,’ since Jeyne didn’t exactly look too disappointed about her misfortune. Then Rickon strayed across their sight, and lost his place in the game as well. One by one, Sansa and Petyr picked off her family members, holding back their laughter as nobody could seem to figure out where the fire was coming from. They each were careful to watch for signs of being discovered, but it seemed they were hidden too well, and soon there was no one left but them.

Sansa could hear her siblings talking, out of sight, wondering aloud just how they’d all been taken out so easily. She shook with repressed laughter as she and Petyr climbed back down, only stopping when he kissed her, hard, pressing her against the wall for a few seconds before retreating.

“Alright my love, it’s just you and me, now,” he said slyly, voice no louder than a whisper.

She arched an eyebrow. “What, we’re going to turn on each other now?”

He smirked at her. “No.”

Sansa frowned. “Then what?” The words died on her tongue as she watched him aim his gun at his own vest, shots fired in rapid succession.

“You win,” Petyr said cheekily, as the lights came back on.

She rolled her eyes and followed him back to the others, who were all looking dumbstruck as they came into view. The stats of the game were visible on the tv hanging overhead, showing clearly that together, Petyr and Sansa had taken down more of them than everyone else, before he had committed laser tag suicide.

“How did you do it?” Arya demanded.

Petyr twirled his gun lazily. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

“Rematch,” Ned said firmly, cutting his daughter off, who was clearly gearing up to argue with Petyr.

Sansa grinned, sharing a conspiratorial look with Petyr. “Fine by us.”

Arya glowered at them, and this time, when the lights dimmed, they had to take care to shake her off before they returned to their roost. Once back in their perch, they sought out the others, sniping them with increased precision. Petyr picked off Arya first, who looked positively murderous as she was taken out of the game only minutes into it, then Rickon. Sansa got Jon and Ygritte, who appeared to be working together in hopes of doing better this time (though Sansa had no doubt that Ygritte would have turned on Jon, in the end, so she could win). Ned crept into view, one shot from being done, and let out a string of curses as Petyr cast the final blow.

Soon, only Robb was left, flitting around so quickly that they were having trouble getting the shot, until finally Sansa managed it. As soon as she’d succeeded, she immediately aimed her gun at Petyr instead, securing her first actual win as she took him by surprise. He didn’t seem to mind her betrayal in the slightest, his smirk only growing. She’d known he wouldn’t, of course. After all, he’d already sacrificed himself once so she could win. But she preferred it this way (at least in a game of laser tag) so that her win meant more.

When they returned to her family again, Arya was still more than a little pissed, though enough time had passed that the sting of it should have worn off somewhat. Ned was looking more than a little wounded, pride wise, having been shot by Arya, Robb, and Petyr, all quite early in the game, and he avoided their gazes at first, before finally shrugging it off. Knowing that Arya would be on the warpath, Sansa and Petyr decided they’d quit while they were ahead (which only made Arya angrier, though she couldn’t do anything about it), and went into the adjoining rec center while the others played a third game.

The rec center was packed with games that only required tokens to play, and, not having a ride home other than with Robb, they decided they might as well have some fun. Petyr bought them some tokens and they wandered around, trying their hand at skee ball, racing and fighting games, and the like, collecting tickets all the while. Sansa challenged him to a game of air hockey, and they’d turned out to be quite evenly matched, knocking around the puck with increasing aggression as they tried to score. It seemed Petyr wasn’t going to let her win all the time, something which she was grateful for. She didn’t need to be patronized. Rather, she liked the challenge.

The rest of her family joined them about an hour later, all running around with their own tokens. Petyr turned out to be pretty good at skee ball, racking up an obscene amount of tickets for her, while she giggled at her own progress in the game next to him. Her father showed up as she accidentally lobbed her ball into Petyr’s court, actually earning a few points.

“I meant to do that,” Sansa said, holding back another giggle. “Figured you could use the help.”

“Uh huh,” Petyr said, casually tossing another ball into the highest point earner.

“Shut up,” she said, trying and failing to do the same. Damnit, skee ball really wasn’t her strong suit.

Ned watched Petyr for a few moments before stepping up to the skee ball station next to Sansa and entering a few tokens. Looking determined, he began to play, though with significantly less success than Petyr. Sansa tried not to acknowledge what her father was clearly trying to do, even as Petyr gave her a knowing smirk, reaching out to snatch the ball from her hands before she could throw it.

“Here,” he said. “Like this.” He tossed it towards the concentric rings, his aim perfect.

Beside them, Ned grunted and tossed his own ball, earning himself five points to Petyr’s triple digits.

Sansa rolled her eyes. “Show off,” she told Petyr.

“Only trying to help,” Petyr said, eyes glinting with mirth as he easily earned himself another three hundred points on his own game.

“Uh huh,” Sansa said, throwing the skee ball at him instead of her game. A passing employee scowled at them, clearly finding their maturity lacking, in a room full of mostly kids who hadn’t yet hit puberty.

Petyr dodged the hit easily and snatched up the fallen ball from the ground. “Now now, Miss Stark, you’ll get us thrown out,” he cautioned, though his tone was more teasing than anything.

Sansa stuck her tongue out at him and pelted him with her remaining ammo. He caught one, but the other bounced off of his forehead, and she burst out laughing as he caught that one too, before it reached the ground, rolling his eyes. Instead of retaliating, he quickly earned her another six hundred points and stole the tickets that had been collecting from her efforts.

“Hey,” she pouted. “Those aren’t yours.”

Petyr rifled through the meager earnings and raised his eyebrows. “And what were you hoping to buy with such a pitiful allowance? A stick of laffy taffy? Or perhaps one of those pencils topped with a naked troll.”

Sansa shrugged. “I hadn’t decided yet. A troll pencil would look good in your office, don’t you think?” she asked slyly, trying to get the tickets back from him.

Petyr gave her a disparaging look and stuffed the tickets into his pocket. “No doubt if Joffrey spotted me using such a pencil, he’d compare it to his Uncle Tyrion, and then we’d all be fucked for the day.”

Despite the reference to Joffrey, Sansa couldn’t help laughing. “Joffrey’s more of a troll than Tyrion ever will be.”

“Exactly, but he doesn’t know that,” Petyr replied, dodging her as she made an attempt to reach into his pant’s pocket, hoping to retrieve her tickets. “Sweetling,” he said exasperatedly. “You can have all of them once we’re done. I have no interest in the gift shop;s offerings.”

“Liar,” Sansa said. “You know you want that retro lava lamp.”

“Clearly,” he said dryly, prompting another giggle from her lips.

Ned grunted again and collected his winnings, having gone through all of his tokens. “I had my eye on the whoopee cushion myself,” he said, grinning at her.

Sansa laughed, remembering how at one time whoopee cushions and fake dog doo were staples during their lake vacations. “I wouldn’t,” she warned. “They’ll spend the rest of the week stuffing it under couch cushions.”

“Exactly,” Ned said, waving his bundle of tickets cheerfully. “Just like old times.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, so I goofed. It's the next chapter that has the drama lol. And the chapter after that.
> 
> A note: I've never played laser tag, only seen it on tv, so forgive the inaccuracies. I just really loved the idea of Petyr and Sansa playing a game against her family and beating them all. Also, this was written around the time of the finale so I liked having Petyr get the better of Arya (and Ned too), and with Sansa complicit too. I love Arya, but I did not like her character development this season (or Sansa's really or Petyr's) so yeah. This is my fluffy way of fixing it/working out that frustration lol.
> 
> And I think a modern AU Petyr would know his way around firearms, and be an excellent shot (I can so see him being a trained sniper). Plus, with his talent for throwing daggers, it makes sense that he's got great aim, so he's also good at skee ball.


	31. Chapter 31

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A stolen moment alone, and a confrontation.
> 
> Note: Trigger Warning for mentions of Petyr’s (nonconsensual) past with Lysa

Despite the rather juvenile activities, Petyr was actually having fun. He’d helped Sansa to victory in laser tag twice, and had even gotten the best of both Ned and Arya, both of whom had been trying his nerves somewhat over the last few days. Of course, that meant retaliation was likely, possibly in the form of the whoopee cushion Ned had set his sights on in the gift shop, but it had been worth it.

Petyr was actually a decent shot, having learned after the whole mess with Ned in the bar, long ago, that he wasn’t entirely capable of fending off attacks in hand to hand combat. He’d taken a few lessons in self defense in college, along with lessons in the proper handling of firearms. Of course, he didn’t always have a gun on hand, but he kept one in his office at The Mockingbird, as well as at home, just in case he found himself on the wrong side of someone less than savory. When you ran a nightclub that employed strippers, such precautions were necessary.

So of course, he’d had little trouble sniping Sansa’s family during their little game, taking a perverse pleasure from getting the better of those that still looked at him as if they couldn’t imagine anyone worse for Sansa to be dating. It was slightly petty of him, but then they weren’t much better. Or at least, that was the case with Arya and Ned. Petyr wasn’t sure how exactly he’d wound up on Arya’s shit list, but he suspected she mainly just liked to make trouble, particularly for her older sister. They were complete opposites, in personality and looks, and clearly had grown up constantly at each other’s throats.

When they’d amassed a ridiculous amount of tickets, Sansa led him into the gift shop, taking her time picking out what she wanted. None of the prizes were worth nearly as much as he had spent on tokens, but he supposed they’d had to factor in the ‘fun’ of the games they played to get tickets. Sansa finally decided on one of those enormous stuffed animals, a fluffy white teddy bear that was big enough that it would take up half of the backseat in Robb’s car. Of course, Petyr had to carry it around for her afterwards, feeling more than a little ridiculous, but not minding, so long as she was happy.

She gave him the remaining tickets and told him to pick out something, so he chose a mood ring shaped like a wolf that he’d noticed her eyeing earlier and gave it to her once they left the shop. Ned watched them from where he was purchasing his whoopee cushion, frowning as Sansa slipped the ring on and kissed Petyr full on the mouth. Petyr tried not to laugh at the man’s expression. You’d have thought he’d just proposed, or something. Like he’d do such a thing with a gift shop mood ring. Honestly.

Unfortunately, Sansa’s siblings were still rocketing around the game room, and without their own car, they were stuck there until the others tired of it. Petyr followed Sansa around the room for a time, lugging her giant teddy bear as she joked with her family, until she led them outside, Robb’s keys in hand, with plans to drop the stuffed animal off in the car.

The quiet outside was a welcome change from the constant noise of the game room, though the rain was still relentless. Sansa held her umbrella over them as they walked, shielding them from the worst of it until they reached the SUV. Petyr stuffed the bear into the trunk, barely making it fit, then turned to head back inside. She caught his sleeve, stopping him, a soft smile playing about her lips.

“What’s your hurry?”

Petyr matched her smile with a smirk, then tugged her close. Their mouths collided, and she pressed up against him, losing her hold on the umbrella as her hands wandered. They both gasped at the sudden assault from the rain, their skin and clothes quickly soaking through, and Petyr grabbed for the door handle, tugging them both inside, the umbrella left forgotten, spinning on the pavement.

Heedless of how reckless they were being, they didn’t stop their attentions, lips fusing as their hands scrabbled, hers freeing his cock as he pushed aside her underwear. Petyr thanked the gods she had thought to wear a skirt that day as she straddled him and he slid inside her wet heat. Mindful of their limited window of opportunity, chased with the thrill and fear that they might be caught at any moment, they set a furious pace, bucking against each other frantically. Sansa bit her lip in an effort to hold back her moans, throwing her head back as he drove up into her.

It was incredibly muggy, inside the car, only made worse by their movements, and their sweat mingled with the rainwater as they sought release. Petyr buried his face in her chest as she arched her back, hands pawing at the ceiling, his chest, the windows, grasping for some semblance of control as he drove her off kilter. They broke together, as her release sent him over the edge, neither able to hold back their cries in the throes of ecstasy.

Breathless, they slumped against each other, heartbeats nearly as erratic as the pounding rain outside. Petyr smoothed her damp hair back from her forehead, her mouth inches from his as her head settled against his headrest. Sansa chuckled softly and kissed him, before slipping off of his lap. He quickly tucked himself back into his pants, noting with relief that they hadn’t left any evidence of their coupling behind on the front of his jeans. Beside him, Sansa arched and removed her underwear, using it to clean up between her legs before leaning over and stuffing the garment in his pocket. Petyr hadn’t yet returned the pair from their time in the boatshed, so he assumed she was cheekily reminding of that fact, teasing him for the strange predilection. She was clever that way. Though really, he hadn’t done anything with them. Yet.

It was almost unbearably stuffy inside the car, but their umbrella had long ago spun away in the wind, and they weren’t yet in any state to see her family, so they stayed put for the moment. After a few minutes, once his heartbeat had settled, Petyr snatched the keys from Sansa’s purse and ducked outside and into the front seat, so that he could turn the car on and ventilate the air inside. It wouldn’t do for Robb to return and find his car smelling like sex. Petyr imagined he’d probably end up stuffed in the trunk instead of the bear, and more than likely just as lifeless.

When he was satisfied that little evidence remained of their little impromptu rendezvous, they made the mad dash back inside, and nearly ran into the rest of the family, who’d apparently finally had their fill of the building’s entertainment offerings.

Ned eyed Petyr with suspicion. “Why are you two all wet?”

“Well it is raining,” Petyr said, unable to contain his smirk as he gestured outside.

“We, uh lost the umbrella,” Sansa said lamely, avoiding her father’s gaze.

“The wind stole it,” Petyr added helpfully.

Ned’s eyes narrowed, but he refrained from commenting. “We’re heading out,” he said shortly, nodding at the door as if it wasn’t already obvious.

Arya wormed her way past Sansa and waggled her eyebrows as she opened her umbrella. “Guess you don’t need one of these, since you’re already soaked, huh Sans?”

“She can share mine,” Jeyne piped in helpfully. “Robb won’t mind.”

Robb shrugged and draped the new t-shirt he’d traded tokens for over his head compliantly, in hopes of sparing himself from the worst of the rain.

Arya scowled at her. “Well you’re no fun,” she pouted, before turning and skipping outside.

Bran and Rickon followed her out, both unshielded from the rain and uncaring, though they tried to snatch away their older sister’s umbrella regardless. Sansa gratefully shared Jeyne’s umbrella, though she looked rather guilty when Petyr caught her eye as they made their way back outside. It really was quite dreadful, the rain coming down in sheets.

When they got into the car, the last remnants of the scent of sex seemed to have dispersed obligingly, overtaken by the smell of rain and damp clothes. The ride back was quiet, save for Jeyne babbling intermittently about some show she was obsessed with, for which she’d found merchandise in the gift shop. Petyr tried hard not to show his displeasure, his mood having soured from being forced to travel in wet clothes-there really wasn’t anything worse than wet jeans. Once they arrived at the lake house, he headed straight for his room, requiring a change of clothes and a hot shower.

Regrettably, though Sansa was doing the same, she could not join him this time. Not with the ever watchful eyes of her parents and siblings. Still, the shower was enjoyable nonetheless, and it felt good to towel off and redress in clean, dry clothing. Petyr grabbed his phone and his laptop once more and made his way back downstairs, hoping Sansa had already finished and rejoined her family.

No such luck.

He found Cat alone in the living room, the sounds of her children rising from the basement game room underneath. She was attempting to read, and looked more than a little irritated at the noise. Petyr might have thought she’d be used to it by now, considering how long she’d been a mother, but then, maybe there were some things you never got used to. He paused for a moment in the doorway, uncertain, then went to sit at the low table, the better to work.

Cat looked up as he opened the laptop, watching him turn on the computer. “So how was it?”

“Ned didn’t tell you?”

She shook her head. “He dropped the kids off and then went to the store to pick up some things I need for dinner.” She sighed. “They’ve already nearly cleaned us out.”

Petyr focused on bringing up some files on his computer, suddenly all too aware that the last time he’d been alone with Cat, he’d professed his love for her, only to be shot down. Two months later, he’d been accosted by Ned, then her new fiance, who, in a fit of nobility, had gone after Petyr after hearing Lysa was pregnant. They hadn’t known, of course, just how Lysa had come to be pregnant with his child, but it hardly seemed to matter at the time. He’d woken up in the hospital the next morning, absolutely devastated, a victim yet again, though few saw it that way, at least back then. Petyr barely remembered either of those nights, the violation, the fight, but he knew with certainty that he hadn’t asked for either. He wasn’t to blame.

At the time, it seemed as if he’d lost everything, in a few short months. And then again when Lysa lost the child, and he left her, loathe to stay with the woman who’d robbed him of so much. It had taken so long to become whole again, and in truth he hadn’t even come close to it. Not until that day he’d first laid eyes on Sansa Stark. Of all people, it had taken Cat’s daughter to piece him back together. And though being with Sansa meant that he was occasionally forced to deal with unpleasant memories from his past, it would be a price he’d happily pay.

Petyr tore himself from his thoughts and chuckled softly, though it was delayed enough to add yet another film of awkwardness over their interactions. Quickly, he sought a new topic, his eyes landing on the book in her hands. “Enjoying your book?”

Cat glanced down as if she’d forgotten she’d been reading. She gave a slow nod, then showed him the cover. Some trashy romance novel, complete with a muscle bound man and a scantily clad woman on the cover. He raised his eyebrows and she gave an embarrassed laugh. “I only read them on vacation, here at the lake. They make for a nice, easy read. It’s a break from the stress of real life.”

He shrugged and quipped, “Whatever floats your boat,” then had to restrain himself from rolling his eyes at his own joke. Wow, that was definitely painful.

For her part, she laughed, before straightening, her expression turning serious. Petyr had just begun running through LASE’s expense reports, but he paused, suspecting he was about to get an earful.

He was right.

Cat blew out a breath, seemingly gathering her thoughts. “Sansa seems happy, I suppose. I’ll give you that.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “Thank you?”

Her eyes narrowed. “You cannot expect me to be thrilled that you’re dating my daughter, Petyr. Forget the age difference, there’s an unfortunate past between you and my family and me, and Ned, that we cannot just ignore.”

“Believe me, I haven’t forgotten,” he replied, careful to temper most of the bite from his tone. “But as neither Sansa nor I are bothered by it, it hardly seems any of your concern.”

Cat gritted her teeth. “She’s young. In time, she might change her mind.”

“She might,” Petyr agreed. “But until then, I suppose you’re stuck with me. Uncomfortable family gatherings are well worth the trouble, where she’s concerned.”

“And what exactly is it you see in her? Because if dating her is some sick way of reliving a past you never had, so help me-” Cat seethed, her self restraint snapping all at once..

“Stop it, right there,” Petyr said, tone icy. “What you’ve just said, right there, is a disservice to your daughter. I’m not with Sansa because of whose child she is, or who she reminds me of. She is her own person, with her own traits, talents, and mannerisms, her own wants and likes and dislikes. And that is all I see, when I look at her.”

He stood and snapped his laptop closed, stopping short when he saw Sansa hovering in the doorway, her gaze flitting between him and her mother. The silence in the room felt interminable, everything and everyone still, as if time had frozen. Then Sansa walked straight to him, wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him.

Startled, it was a few beats before Petyr responded, and then only a few beats later when she broke the kiss, much to his disappointment. She leaned her forehead against his, then whispered a breathy ‘I love you’ that was still easily heard in the otherwise silent room.

He pulled Sansa closer, murmuring his response into her glossy waves, still warm from the hair dryer. Cat was likely gawping at them, but he hardly cared. Her opinion mattered little to him, now. The boy who had loved her was dead and gone, had been since the night he’d nearly died at her fiance’s hand. Only for Sansa’s sake would he make any attempt to curry her favor.

When Sansa pulled away, her eyes were shining, and when she led him back upstairs, he followed without complaint. Unwilling to risk her father’s wrath in addition to her mother’s, they didn’t attempt anything risky. Instead, he lounged on the twin bed with his back against the headboard and his laptop perched on his knees, Sansa curled into his side, and they watched more of their go-to show for entertainment, Doctor Who, piggybacking on a hotspot from his phone for a wireless connection.

They didn’t move until Bran was sent up to tell them that dinner was ready. Needless to say, it was an awkward meal. Cat had obviously filled Ned in on their earlier conversation, and both were unusually quiet, focusing on eating their food and avoiding eye contact with both Sansa and Petyr throughout the entire ordeal. The rest of the family picked up on the tension in the room, and it was easy to tell from whence it had come, though they seemed loathe to comment on it, for the most part.

Only Arya was brave enough to try and ferret out what had happened. “Alright, what gives?”

When neither Cat nor Ned deigned to speak, Arya continued to press the matter, her attention on Sansa instead. “They catch you two getting busy or something?”

Sansa choked on her water and set the glass back down. Petyr looked at her in concern as she coughed, trying to expel the water that had gone down the wrong pipe. “Of course not,” she said finally, when she’d recovered enough to speak.

Arya looked skeptical. “Then what?”

“Just leave it, Arya,” Jon advised, sharing a knowing look with his wife.

Reluctantly, Arya relented, turning back to her food with a scowl. Petyr frowned down at his own plate, almost untouched. Beside him, Sansa’s looked nearly the same. This was upsetting her far more than she let on. He sighed. Perhaps it would be best if he excused himself for the night. Let the air clear a bit from his absence and a good night’s sleep. Hopefully in the morning everything would be back to normal. Well, as normal as it could be, considering the circumstances.

He stood, placing a hand on Sansa’s shoulder. “I think I’ll turn in for the night, sweetling. It would be best if I caught up on some of the work I’ve neglected as of late. Spend the evening with your family.”

Before she could protest, he bent and gave her a quick peck on the cheek before departing. ‘It was better this way’, he told himself. She’d spent most of the vacation paying more attention to him than anyone else. More than likely, that only exacerbated the rancor towards him, which in turn hurt her. An evening with just her and her family might help ease the tension, at least somewhat. Or so he hoped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tensions have finally built to a head! Did anyone guess that Cat would be the first to crack? I think, more so than Ned, she has a bone to pick with Petyr, so I gave her the point for the confrontation. They had to clear the air between them, something that they haven't done yet, even after all these years. Even without Petyr dating Sansa, this was a conversation they needed to have to resolve what happened.
> 
> More to come!


	32. Chapter 32

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa has a talk with her parents. A game of Bullshit, and a movie you’ll likely recognize ;)

Sansa was more than a little dismayed by the turn the day had taken. It had started out so well, even with the foul weather. She’d actually had fun playing laser tag. And together, she and Petyr had won two games. Not to mention her new giant stuffed teddy bear that was too ridiculous not to get, and the wolf mood ring Petyr had picked out for her (which she was still wearing and likely would be telling her she was anxious if it actually worked). And the car sex.

But then she’d spent a bit too long in the shower, lingering over memories of said car sex, and left Petyr all alone to fend for himself. She should have known that on the first opportunity, her mother would strike, prodding for faults in their relationship.

Sansa had only caught the tail end of their conversation, but she’d heard enough. And while Petyr’s words in her favor had only strengthened her feelings for him, her mother’s words still stung, the hurt refusing to dissipate, much like bee stings she’d had where she sometimes would still feel the stinger beneath her skin long after the bee had spent its wrath. It wasn’t doubt in Petyr’s regard for her that bothered her, she was confident he loved her, but rather that her mother still persisted in the belief that he couldn’t possibly love Sansa for herself, even after seeing them together. That notion was more hurtful than Sansa could have ever imagined. It painted her as someone who couldn’t possibly be loved as anything other than an echo of someone else, as someone whose judgement couldn’t be trusted.

It felt like Cat was throwing Sansa’s mistakes with Joffrey back in her face.

One bad relationship, and suddenly she was a silly fool who didn’t have a clue when it came to men, at least in her parents’ eyes. And yet they were the ones who refused to see the truth, blinded by their own pasts. Sansa had moved beyond her mistakes, had grown from them, while her parents chose instead to cling to them, digging themselves in deeper and deeper, until they couldn’t hope to escape from them. She wouldn’t let them hold her back.

But she would give them a chance to climb back out. Extend a ladder, if you will. She hoped they would take it.

When Petyr left the table, she’d wanted to ask him to stay, and yet she knew what he was doing for her. He was giving her a chance to be with her family, to let them sort everything out on their own, without his presence to hinder their efforts. It was a sensible choice, and though she ached to call him back, or to follow him back to his room, she didn’t. She would stay, and she would fight. For them. For the happiness they had found together.

The tension around the table lifted considerably within minutes, an almost collected breath hushing from her family’s lungs as they all relaxed. Only Sansa still remained silent, still picking at her food. Her siblings finished their meals, and scattered, leaving only Sansa and her parents behind. Heart pounding, she lifted her gaze to meet theirs.

Here we go….

“We need to talk,” she said, her tone toeing the line between firmness and caution.

Her mother nodded. Ned sighed.

Bolstered by the lack of opposition, Sansa continued. “I realize that you have had your doubts about my relationship with Petyr, and that they are only natural, considering the circumstances. But I had hoped, that after seeing us together, you might begin to see past the prejudices you had built against him. I had hoped that you would see how much we care about each other, how much we have in common.”

She paused, drawing in a shaky breath, then plowed on before she could lose her nerve. “The fact that you both clearly persist in your previous judgements hurts me deeply. I know I have made mistakes in the past, and believe me, if I could undo them, I would. But this is not one of them. He and I, we see each other, just as we are. I know his heart, and his soul, and they are the mirror of my own. And I beg of you to see it too. Please. For my sake.”

Her parents were silent for a few moments, absorbing her words. Then they both shared a glance, before turning to her with a mutual understanding gleaned from that brief interaction. Her mother spoke first.

“Sansa,” Cat began hesitantly. “I’m sorry.” She paused, staring down at the table, features etched with shame. “Believe me, the last thing I wanted to do was hurt you. I just… I wanted to be sure. It’s not that I don’t trust you, but that you’re my daughter, and, with any man you date, I will always want to protect you. It kills me that both your father and I saw nothing amiss with Joffrey, blinded by the fact that he was Robert’s son. He might not have ever laid a hand on you, but I can still see the effects of his emotional abuse, looking back on it. I just didn’t want to make that mistake again.”

Ned nodded in silent agreement as his wife spoke, his jaw and fists clenching when Joffrey’s name was spoken. Cat reached for Sansa’s hands across the table and squeezed them. “The way Petyr spoke of you earlier, I know now that my fears were unfounded. But still, it will take awhile before your father and I can come to terms with this. Not only with the knowledge that you two are together, but that your relationship has progressed much farther than we’d previously realized. It’s a lot to take in. We aren’t angry, with either of you. Just trying to sort all of this out. Be patient with us, sunshine.”

Sansa smiled gratefully at her mother, and then at her father, always better with his hands than his words. “That’s good to hear.” Her voice quavered slightly, a lump forming in her throat that wasn’t from despair but rather the reminder of how blessed she truly was. “Thank you.”

She got up, and hugged them both in turn, her father holding her more tightly than usual before he pulled away and ruffled her hair. Fighting the urge to roll her eyes at him and fix it, she helped them clean up the table, adding plates to the dishwasher and packing up the leftovers. When they were done, she made to follow them to the living room, stopping when her mother cast a knowing look towards the stairs. Sansa flashed Cat a grateful smile before heeding the silent gesture.

Petyr was in his room, as he’d said he’d be, sitting against the headboard of his bed and tapping away at his laptop. He looked up in surprise as she entered, his gaze following her as she drifted over to his side. She reached for his hand, lacing her fingers through his, suddenly feeling shy. It was strange, how she could feel so comfortable around him sometimes, and yet other times he made her so nervous, his opinion holding so much more weight that she ever could have imagined.

“I talked to them,” she said finally, for lack of anything better to say.

He closed the laptop with his other hand, reaching over to set it on the bedside table, before turning to her once more. “And?”

Sansa sat down next to him in the small space afforded by the twin mattress. “And it seems they believe what you said earlier. They were just taken aback. I don’t think it occurred to them that things could possibly be that serious between us.”

Petyr’s mouth lifted in a smirk as he lifted her hand to press a kiss along her knuckles. “There we go again, defying the odds,” he murmured against her skin, before his expression turned more serious. “So it’s all resolved? I cannot think it would be that simple.”

She smiled. “No, you’re right. This isn’t the end of it. But I think we’ve passed the worst of it. I doubt they will ever be completely happy with our relationship, but at least they’ve accepted that it’s real between us. And that’s the most important part.”

He leaned in and kissed her, and as it deepened, she debated about them staying upstairs for a few seconds before discarding it. Her parents had extended an olive branch. It would be foolish not to take it.

Sansa pulled away. “Come back down with me? They sent me up here to get you.” He raised his eyebrows, and she amended, “Well, my mom hinted that I should.”

Petyr chuckled and kissed her again before getting to his feet. “Alright, but if they want to play boardgames I’m not holding back. I look forward to schooling you all in Monopoly.”

“What if they want to play Twister?” she teased as they walked down the stairs

“I find that highly unlikely, sweetling.”

“Unless I suggest it,” Sansa said, nudging him with a wicked grin.

“In which case I’ll decline until later when we can play our own version, sans clothing.”

She clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle her laughter then elbowed him as they neared the landing. “Shh,” she scolded, voice lowered. “Someone might hear.”

He rolled his eyes. “No one’s here. I’ll wager that everyone except for your parents is in the basement.”

“Still, don’t push your luck,” Sansa advised him.

“But that’s my specialty,” Petyr replied flippantly.

She snorted. “Alright, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

He stopped suddenly beside her and pulled her in a for a searing kiss. Sansa stared at him, slightly dazed as he stepped back. “Just getting it out of my system,” he promised. “I’ll be good.”

They found her parents in the living room, along with everyone else, to their surprise, all grouped around the low table, playing cards. There wasn’t nearly enough room for everyone, so some were perched on bar stools behind the others. Ned glanced up as Sansa and Petyr came in, his face splitting into a wide grin.

“Care to test your skills in Bullshit?” he asked.

“It’s a family favorite,” Arya put in. “Mostly because it always gives us kids the perfect excuse to swear without getting yelled at.” She paused, studying her cards for a moment, then put two in the pile in the middle of the table. “Two twos.”

Rickon snickered. “Sounded like you just said tutu.”

Arya rolled her eyes. “And what’s so funny about that, dog breath?” 

“The idea of you in a tutu,” Rickon shot back. “And Bullshit.”

Arya shot him a wicked grin and gestured for Cat to flip over the cards. Two twos. Rickon groaned and accepted the pile of discarded cards from his father, then began sorting through them.

“We’re almost done with this round, I think,” Cat told them. “Then we can deal you in.”

Bran won soon after, discarding his last card, which, when contested by Arya, actually turned out to be the correct card for his turn. Then everyone shuffled their seats around to make room for Sansa and Petyr, allowing them both to sit more comfortably at the table rather than in the second row of seats.

Sansa wasn’t sure if Petyr had even played Bullshit before, but he didn’t ask for anyone to explain the rules, and she figured that even if he hadn’t played it, he had probably figured out the gist of it while watching her family play. The game started, and she quickly got into it, doing her best to catch her family in their lies while she maintained her own poker face. She’d always been one of the better players in her family, her father, Jon and Robb the worst, with Rickon not far behind. It was rare for any of them to win, because, try as they might, they weren’t the most skilled of liars, nor at catching people in them. Cat, Arya, and Bran faired much better, and Ygritte put them all to shame. Jeyne tried her best, but she and Robb were made for each other, at least when it came to Bullshit. Both couldn’t lie to save their lives.

Whether Petyr knew the rules well beforehand or not remained to be seen, but regardless, he turned out to be an exceptional player. Sansa shouldn’t have been surprised, really. He had spent years mastering his emotions, careful to never reveal too much, and he’d always been incredibly perceptive. Even without the years she’d had to study her family’s tells, he called them out on their Bullshit with perfect accuracy. Each time it was his turn to add to the pile, Sansa (and everyone else) watched him, searching for a clue as to whether he might be lying, but at least in her case, she could find nothing. Arya called Bullshit on him more than once, testing the waters, but every time it wound up backfiring on her. Jeyne was the first to catch him in a lie, and though everyone pestered her for what she’d seen to let her know he was lying, she maintained ignorance, confessing that she’d actually had all the fours, so she’d known he’d had no choice but to lie.

Though Petyr was easily beating the rest of them, Sansa’s family remained friendly towards him, pushing their competitive natures to the side for the sake of interfamilial cooperation. Sansa wasn’t far behind him, calling others on their Bullshit with a skill that nearly matched his own, and more than once they were neck and neck to win. He rarely called Bullshit on her moves, and she only did the same to him when she was certain he was lying, which wasn’t often. The last game ended with him securing the win for the third time, playing his final card, which should have been a five. No one had called him on it, but afterwards Sansa flipped the card over to find the Queen of Hearts and he’d tossed her a cheeky smirk.

After they’d tired of cards, Cat suggested a movie, and Arya found Jurassic Park playing on one of the channels. The movie had always been a favorite in their household, what with the man eating dinosaurs and the iconic lines. Cat made several bags of popcorn and sodas were passed around, and everyone settled in to watch, though they spent a lot more time trying to catch kernels in their mouths and saying the lines along with the actors or providing commentary (rooting for the dinosaurs of course) than actually watching.

Sansa had snagged seats for her and Petyr on one of the couches, so they were more comfortable than most, some of her siblings in chairs pulled over from the table or lounging on the floor on enormous pillows bought specifically for that purpose. Arya was on her other side, though she mostly ignored them, choosing instead to fling popcorn at Rickon and Bran, who were both on the floor. At first, Cat tried to get them to stop, but when Ned joined in, she gave up, and told them they’d all better clean up every last kernel before they went to bed.

Neither Sansa nor Petyr joined in on the popcorn fight, though one of the bowls was perched in his lap. When Arya ran out of her own portion (most littered along the floor, in between couch cushions, or in someone’s hair), she nudged Sansa. “You guys gonna eat anymore of that, or can I have it?”

Sansa shook her head and Petyr picked up the bowl and held it out to Arya, who took it and picked up a kernel thoughtfully. “Catch,” she said, lobbing it in Petyr’s direction.

WIthout the slightest hint in his features betraying his thoughts, he easily caught it in his mouth, and took a sip from his drink, before returning his attention to the movie. Arya looked surprised and slightly impressed, before she schooled her features and turned to her younger brothers, armed with a bowl full of buttery projectiles.

That night, Sansa sneaked into Petyr’s room once more, after she was certain everyone else had gone to sleep. As she curled into his embrace, his heartbeat a soothing lullaby to her exhausted mind, she had hope that maybe, just maybe, they really could all be a family, happy together. It would never be easy, or perfect, but that was rarely the case with any family. This could work, and if it did, she couldn’t imagine being any happier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, probably not what you expected, but hopefully you still liked it :). Those hoping for Petyr getting 'the talk' from Ned should look forward to the end of the next chapter!


	33. Chapter 33

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paddleboating, Jet Skiing, and memories. Also a bit of Ned and Petyr bonding time (ish)

Petyr woke Friday morning with Sansa still curled in his arms, the sounds of her family moving about filtering through his closed bedroom door. Apparently both of them had been exhausted enough to sleep past the time she normally roused and stumbled back to her own room. There was something about being in this house that sapped the energy from his bones like nothing else. 

Perhaps it was the constant presence of her unruly family members, always so loud and anxious for activity, their antics draining on the reserves of everyone else. Or, perhaps it was the activities themselves, days full of swimming and boating under the hot sun, or playing laser tag and arcade games. Either way, he’d slept more as of late than he’d done since he was still in single digits, agewise. 

This might have made him feel old but for the twenty-three year old still passed out in his arms. Clearly she was tired as well. Tired enough to risk her family’s wrath if they found her inside his room, and in his bed. Never mind that they were both still fully dressed, Petyr suspected that that little detail wouldn’t matter. Ned and Cat would probably throw him at the mercy of their children, who’d probably tie him up and lash fireworks to his body, so that his death would come in a burst of color and noise that would add to the thrill of the moment.

He really needed to stop thinking such morbid thoughts. Especially this early in the morning.

The sounds of Sansa’s brothers soon quieted, as the smells of breakfast drifted up from the kitchen. Sansa stirred in his arms, no doubt catching the scents of maple syrup and sausage, and he instinctively pulled her closer, her body perfectly tucked against his in the narrow bed. Sighing, she turned in his arms, burying her head in his shoulder as she started to speak, the action muffling her words.. 

Petyr dropped a kiss on the tousled locks on the crown of her head. “What was that, sweetling?”

She groaned and raised her head, gaze resigned. “We’re fucked.”

He chuckled. “Hopefully not. There’s still a chance they haven’t noticed your absence.” He paused. “I’m fairly certain all of your brothers have left for breakfast by now. Now would probably be a good time to sneak downstairs.”

Sansa nodded and leaned forward to capture his lips in a fleeting kiss. “Wish me luck.”

Petyr reluctantly let her get up, watching as she tiptoed towards his door, listening for a moment before opening it a crack to peer out into the hallway. Apparently she’d found the coast clear, as she darted out on nimble feet, closing the door softly behind her. Hoping she’d make it, he got up and dressed, before heading to the bathroom for his morning ablutions. 

He didn’t hear any cries of outrage or wails of despair as he trimmed his goatee and moustache, and combed his hair, which he took as a good sign. Heartened by the silence, Petyr returned to his room to grab his phone from the nightstand before heading downstairs, stopping at Sansa’s room on his way to the kitchen in case she was still getting ready. 

She wasn’t inside, but he could hear the sounds of someone moving around in the bathroom, so he waited, hoping he was right in his assumption that it was Sansa and not someone else. Luckily, he’d been correct, and Sansa stepped out, dressed in her purple bikini and a pair of black cotton shorts, all ready for another day out on the water. Grinning, she slipped her hand into his, and together they went down to breakfast.

Absolutely nothing seemed amiss as they entered the kitchen, all of the Starks cheerfully gathered around the table as they picked at an assortment of fruit and waited for Cat and Ned to finish cooking an enormous batch of french toast, a large covered skillet warming in the oven with sausage links they’d already prepared. Sansa snared two seats together for them while Petyr grabbed them each a glass of orange juice, and they’d barely helped themselves to some fruit before the french toast was done.

As was typical for a meal with the Starks, the chatter immediately dampened, falling victim to their voracious appetites, a welcome silence that Petyr always wished would have lasted longer than a maximum of ten minutes. Neither Ned nor Cat seemed to be giving him the stink eye, so he suspected that his little dalliance with their daughter had gone unnoticed, thank the gods that he didn’t particularly believe in. There weren’t any queer looks from the rest of the household either, which meant that he and Sansa were obviously in the clear. If anyone had caught them, it would have been easily read on their countenance. The Starks weren’t known for their subtlety or restraint, and Ygritte seemed of a similar mold, while Jeyne was too sweet and open, free of malintent or subterfuge. 

Once everyone had eaten their fill enough to speak again, Robb asked what the plan would be for today.

Ned swallowed a bite of french toast and lowered his fork, casting his glance outside before responding. “Well, we haven’t yet taken the jet skis for a spin this year. I thought perhaps we could take them out, and the pontoon boat, after lunch. We can ski again first, or we can break out the kayaks, go fishing. Up to all of you, really.”

The table broke out into conversation as each of the Starks, Jon, Ygritte, and Jeyne voiced their opinions, talking over one another. It took what felt like a lifetime, but by the time they’d finished eating breakfast they’d decided. Arya, Bran, and Rickon wanted to go kayaking, while Jon and Ygritte, Robb and Jeyne all opted to go fishing (catch and release only), along with Ned. Cat decided to kayak as well, unwilling to leave her youngest children unsupervised, despite the fact that Arya was in college, with Bran to start next fall, and Rickon was nearly old enough to drive. 

Sansa wasn’t a fan of fishing, even with the catch and release method, and she seemed wary about kayaking (apparently Arya had dunked her one too many times in the past), so she and Petyr decided on the paddleboat instead. They would follow Cat and the others as they kayaked, able to participate in the fun without the threat of being upended by the youngest Starks.

Though it was still early, Sansa grabbed each of them a cold root beer from the fridge before they went outside, and they snagged a pair of life jackets from the boatshed before heading to the paddleboat. Unlike those in the kayaks, they wouldn’t have to wear the life jackets, but it was important to keep them on hand just in case.

Petyr had never been in a paddleboat before, but it seemed easy enough, the controls rather rudimentary. He waited with Sansa while Cat and her children lugged their kayaks over to the water, watching as Ned and the others set up chairs, a cooler, and fishing tackle on one of the docks. Rickon and Bran were bickering as they got settled in their kayaks, having fought over who got to use the one with flame decals on its nose. Cat had taken it for herself to solve the argument, but they were both pouting nonetheless.

Finally, after what seemed an eternity, everyone was ready, and Petyr and Sansa followed her mother and siblings out onto the water, moving at a slightly slower pace due to the paddleboat’s bulk and spotty controls. For the most part, they spent a very enjoyable morning paddling through the nearby channels and chatting about trivial matters, occasionally pointing out turtles lounging on lily pads, or baby ducklings bobbing along the surface. Being in the paddleboat did spare Petyr and Sansa from being sent overboard, though Arya splashed them more than once, passing off each time as an accident (“I dropped my oar, that’s all”). Petyr didn’t really mind, since he was wearing his bathing suit and had prepared himself for that eventuality, but Sansa was less than thrilled.

His sweetling had a little trick up her sleeve though. While Arya and the others were wrestling with their kayaks, she and Petyr and sneaked out a pair of super soakers and loaded them up, hiding them under their life jackets before anyone saw. After the third time Arya splashed her, Sansa gave him a wink and together they grabbed their water guns, aiming the spray for the back of Arya’s head. Arya had shrieked and dropped her oar, and as she fumbled around trying to catch it she upended herself in the water.

Sansa had howled with laughter along with her younger brothers, though Cat looked concerned until Arya resurfaced, looking disgruntled. Petyr suspected they would pay for that later, but still, the threat of getting hit with the water guns again spared them from getting splashed anymore for the rest of the morning. And as long as he kept his guard up, Arya wouldn’t get her revenge.

They returned for a lunch of BLT’s and loaded nachos, then dissolved into more squabbles as they fought over who would get to ride the jet skis first. In the end, Robb and Jeyne rode on one, and Jon, Ygritte, and Ned took the other three. Petyr joined Sansa and the rest of her family on the pontoon boat, and they all made their way to a sandbar, those in the pontoon boat jumping into the water while they awaited their turns.

Ned returned first, passing his jet ski reluctantly off to Arya with shouts for her to be careful. When Jon and Ygritte came back, Bran and Rickon climbed onto one, and Petyr climbed onto the other with Sansa, her arms wrapped securely around his waist. He’d never ridden a jet ski before, so she talked him through the basics, and soon they were crashing through the waves on one of the more exhilarating thrill rides he’d ever experienced. It wasn’t until Sansa reminded him that they were sharing the jet ski with the rest of the family that he reluctantly turned back, and he had a newfound urge to purchase lakefront property and a couple of jet skis sometime in the nearby future.

They passed off the jet ski to Ygritte, who wanted another go, and Jon, who didn’t seem to want his wife out of his sight (likely because of her pregnancy. Ygritte was more than capable of looking after herself), argued with her a bit before climbing on behind her determinedly. He seemed to have no qualms about her driving, but she hadn’t wanted him to come along at all, free spirit that she was. It was clear that his overprotectiveness was going to be a constant source of bickering throughout her pregnancy.

Cat was off on the jet ski formerly commandeered by Robb and Jeyne, and Bran, Rickon and Arya were still out cruising through the surf. Ned was in the boat, fiddling with the radio, while Robb and Jeyne lounged on floats, bobbing with the waves. Petyr stayed in the water with Sansa for a few minutes after they returned, before they both climbed into the boat in search of something to drink, the hot sun parching their tongues.

‘American Woman,’ by The Who was on the radio, and Petyr remembered how Robb had mentioned the other day that the song was basically a staple for their times out on the boat. Ned clearly favored classic rock stations, which Petyr couldn’t really fault him for. There were so many iconic songs from the genre, each complete with their own set of memories. Indeed, Petyr remembered lazy summer days at the local pool, Cat’s brother Edmure puffing out his chest as he sung the song as a hint for his sisters to leave him and Mace alone. 

Ned lowered the volume when he spotted them, smiling at his daughter as she grabbed a towel and wrapped it around her waist. “Have fun?”

Sansa nodded. “Just thirsty,” she explained.

Petyr passed over his own towel, heading straight for the cooler. “What do you want?”

“Hmm...Root Beer?”

“Cream Soda ok?”

“Ooh, I didn’t know we had that,” Sansa replied, sounding excited.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Petyr said, grabbing a can of Cream Soda, and a bottle of water for himself, before shutting the cooler’s lid.

Sansa grinned at him as she took the can from him, popping the top and taking a long sip with a rather blissful expression on her face. “I forgot how much I love Cream Soda,” she said, sighing softly.

“Couldn’t have a family vacation without it,” Ned said cheerfully. “And Root Beer too, of course.”

Petyr sat down next to Sansa and cracked the seal on his water bottle, taking a grateful gulp of the cold water. “The Tullys always seemed to have both on hand during the summers,” he murmured distractedly, staring out at the stretch of dark water glinting in the sun.

“Yeah, Mom kind of carried on the tradition,” Sansa said, nudging him gently. “Everything okay?”

He turned back to her, smiling. “Of course. Just, the songs on the radio. They’re bringing back a lot of memories.”

Queen’s ‘Fat Bottom Girls’ was playing, and Sansa understandably raised her eyebrows at him.

He chuckled. “Not this song in particular, no. Though, now that I think about it, I distinctly remember Luthor liked to sing along to this song whenever it came up on the radio, just to make Olenna mad.”

Sansa laughed. “Oh gods, I would have loved to see that.” Her smile faded. “I would have liked to have met him.”

“He was a good man,” Petyr assured her. “No match for Olenna in wits, to be sure, but kind. He tempered some of the bite from Olenna, complemented her well. They were very happy, until…” He didn’t need to continue. Sansa knew, and Ned as well, of the car crash that had stolen not only Luthor, but Mace and his wife Alerie as well. 

Ned shook his head. “A tragedy, to be sure. Cat has always spoken fondly of Luthor, and Mace as well, though she never had the fortune to meet his wife. All taken far too soon…”

Petyr nodded. “Especially considering Margaery and Loras hadn’t even left school yet. Olenna took them in herself, and I think that more than anything helped her through the grief. Having two kids dependant on her. And once they’d both graduated, Olenna moved to the city to be closer to the rest of us, since Margaery and Loras both chose to go to NYU.”

“And lucky they did, for otherwise I wouldn’t have met them,” Sansa said, smiling as she brushed away a curl that was fighting with the wind, tucking it behind her ear. “Nor you,” she added.

“Certainly our family would have suffered a great loss had you not chosen to complete your degree in New York,” Petyr replied, reaching out to tame the errant strand once more.

“I do hope that was a genuine sentiment,” she said, blue eyes sparkling like ocean waves in the sun.

“How could it not be?” he asked.

She looked ready to lean in and kiss him, but then Ned grunted, ruining the mood. “Think I heard some clicking in the motor earlier,” he muttered, getting to his feet. “Better go and check it out.”

Petyr refrained from rolling his eyes. Sansa looked as though she were holding back a laugh as she watched her father head to the back of the boat, lifting the cushioned panel to take a look at the boat’s innards. Both of them were confident Ned hadn’t really heard anything amiss, a fact easily discernible by the lame excuse to leave and the redness tipping Ned’s ears that wasn’t from too much sun.

When Ned finally gave up the pretense, partially due to Cat’s return and the inquiries that he couldn’t answer, Petyr followed Sansa back into the water for another rendezvous with the jet ski, since neither Robb nor Jeyne seemed so inclined. This time Petyr let Sansa drive, since she clearly wanted to, enjoying the strained look on Ned’s face as he pulled Sansa flush against him, his arms about her waist. 

Though she clearly enjoyed driving, he somewhat regretted letting her do so when he realized how adventurous she was with the jet ski, crashing through the biggest waves and testing the limits of the watercraft. He regretted it more still when she attempted a three-sixty and wound up dumping them both into the water as she tilted too far off balance. Still, after recovering from swallowing probably half the lake, he climbed right back on after her, enjoying the way she laughed as they zipped along the waves, the spray kissing their sun warmed skin. 

Oh, the things he did for love….

They didn’t return again until after everyone else had gathered once more at the sandbar, and rather than disembark, they stayed on the jet ski while everyone else clambered back into the boat or onto the remaining three jet skis, then followed Robb as he drove the boat back to the house. Rather than cooking as usual, Ned informed them that they would be going out to dinner that evening, so everyone scrambled to get cleaned up and changed, given an hour to do so before they planned to leave. Most refrained from showering after swimming, as usual, choosing instead to just dry off and change into clean clothes, leaving a shower before bed instead. Petyr was grateful for this, as it meant that he didn’t have to wait to use the shower, and he rather detested the idea of putting on even his casual clothes without washing up first.

Sadly, Sansa couldn’t join him, the upper two floors more congested with her family members than normal. He hoped that they might manage to share a shower at least once more before they left the lake house, but it seemed a doubtful prospect. When he’d finished dressing, in black dress pants and a dark green button down (it wasn’t as hot today, as it had been, and anyway, he’d rolled up the sleeves. He knew he was likely over dressed but he hardly cared. Days of dressing in nothing but jeans, t-shirts, and swimwear had left him longing for something a taste more refined), he went downstairs, heading to the kitchen in search of something to drink. 

Petyr nearly turned around when he spotted Ned seated at the kitchen table, already dressed and rifling through the paper, but he figured that after last night the chances of getting murdered by Sansa’s father had considerably lessened. Ned glanced up as he entered the room, watching as he opened the cupboard to retrieve a glass and held it to the water dispenser set into the fridge. 

“So, where are we going?” Petyr asked conversationally.

“Pizza,” Ned grunted.

“Sounds good,” Petyr offered, turning to face Ned as he raised the glass to his lips.

Ned nodded. “Should be,” he said slowly. Then-- “My daughter spoke with us last night. With me, and Cat. It’s important to her that we all get along.” He paused. “She seems happy now, and while that remains the case, I’ll not do anything to jeopardize that. But if that ever changes, if I get the slightest hint that you’ve done anything to hurt her, I will not hesitate to finish our fight from before. Do I make myself clear?”

Petyr inclined his head, meeting Ned’s gaze. “Crystal.”

“Good.” Ned checked his watch, then pushed back his chair, getting to his feet. “Five minute warning!” he bellowed, clearly for the benefit of his children and the others, scattered about the house.

Petyr wished he’d had a proper warning for the sudden verbal onslaught. Not the threat, mind you. He’d expected that. But Ned had an impeccable set of lungs. His ears were practically ringing from the sheer volume Ned had reached. 

As Ned made to leave the kitchen, Petyr spoke up. “For the record, I have no intention of ever hurting your daughter.” He paused. “And, if you’ll let me, I would like to thank you for your hospitality this week by paying for dinner tonight.”

Ned looked briefly taken aback before he remembered himself, frowning. “You do realize we’ll be feeding ten people, right Baelish?”

Petyr chuckled. “I can swing it. A free vacation, complete with three meals a day. It’s the least I can do.”

Ned shrugged. “If you insist. But I should warn you, some of them can put away an entire pizza on their own.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Petyr assured him. “Tell them it’s on me, and don’t let them hold back on my account. I’ll even cover ice cream afterwards.”

Arya, who had just ambled into the kitchen, eyes fixated on a package of oreos, stopped in her tracks. “You’re paying for dinner?” she asked.

Petyr nodded, and she flashed him a wicked grin before tearing out of the room, shouting with lungs that rivaled her father’s. “Let’s get moving! Sansa’s boyfriend’s footing the bill!”

He cringed, both at the volume and the use of the word ‘boyfriend’ (it really sounded ridiculous in that context), and Ned laughed. “Too late to back out now,” he said, misinterpreting Petyr’s reaction.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so it was brief, but Ned had *the talk* with Petyr :)
> 
> A few more chapters and the vacation will come to an end and it's back to New York with the Tyrells!


	34. Chapter 34

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Petyr pays for dinner and ice cream. Family bonding time.

“You do realize you’re probably going to be broke before the night’s over, right?” Sansa asked Petyr as they climbed into the back of Robb’s SUV.

She’d been taken aback when Arya had shouted about Petyr paying for dinner for the whole house to hear. Petyr hadn’t mentioned anything about doing so before, and Sansa had always imagined her father might not want to let Petyr pay for anything as some misguided show of male dominance. But it seemed her father had no qualms about the matter, or, at least he was willing to make an effort for Sansa’s sake. Either way, she was most pleasantly surprised.

Still, she felt she ought to warn him. Her siblings were bottomless pits even on an average day, and they were especially ravenous during their lake vacations. And she had no doubt that Arya would probably order everything on the menu, just to see if she could.

Petyr chuckled, and oh how she adored the raspy sound. It never failed to send a delicious shiver down her spine, one sometimes accompanied by a familiar twinge further down south. “I highly doubt that, sweetling.” He paused, then added. “Unless they insist on buying the actual restaurant, and the neighboring buildings. Then I might have a slight cause for worry.”

Jeyne turned in her seat, eyes wide. “Just how well off are you?”

“Jeyne!” Robb protested, giving Sansa a worried look through the rearview mirror.

Jeyne flushed. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude. My curiosity just got the better of me for a moment.” She turned to Robb. “I think Arya and Ygritte are rubbing off on me.”

“No, it’s fine,” Petyr assured her. “And to answer your question, very.”

Sansa elbowed him. “Show off.”

“What? She asked,” he replied, looking wounded.

Sansa grinned. “I know. Just teasing.”

Robb coughed. “So are we, uh, talking like in the six figures range or...?”

It was Jeyne’s turn to chastise her significant other. “Robb!” she scolded.

Robb gave her an exasperated look. “It’s hardly worse than what you asked!”

“Yes, and you yelled at me for it,” Jeyne reminded him.

“Except he said it was fine to ask,” Robb argued back.

Sansa rolled her eyes at Petyr. “See what you started?”

He smirked at her. “Apparently this is a prime example of the adage ‘no good deed goes unpunished.’”

“How are you being punished?” Sansa wondered aloud.

“I’m not, currently. But you seem to think I’ll regret offering to pay tonight,” Petyr replied, raising his eyebrows.

“Oh you will,” Robb said, pulling the car into the parking lot of the local Pizza Hut. “Arya’s probably going to do whatever she can to clean you out tonight.”

Fortunately for Petyr, Sansa’s parents kept things from getting too out of hand in terms of orders. Still, they’d gotten a large assortment of pies, with everything from meat lover’s and supreme, to bbq chicken and a spicy pepperoni with jalapenos and peruvian cherry peppers, along with breadsticks, salad, hot wings of varying heat levels, and french fries, which Sansa hadn’t even known Pizza Hut offered. And, of course, drinks.

The meal started with a straw paper fight, instigated by Arya, and ended by their mother when Rickon swiped a bunch of straws from the waitstaff and stuck two up his nose, the paper from one ending up in Cat’s drink. Sansa was simultaneously amused by her family’s behavior and horrified, which was pretty much par for the course these days. Though Arya was in college, her antics were still as childish as ever, particularly around Bran and Rickon, and on vacation, where she let off steam after being a somewhat more respectable adult the majority of the time for school and work. And Rickon was fifteen, as well as the youngest, so he was always determined to outdo the rest, feeling he had something to prove. Not to mention, whenever her family got together, it seemed they all brought out the worst in one another, acting wilder than they would do alone or in other company.

Sansa was grateful, in these moments, that she had long ago left the house, striking out on her own. She loved her family, but she well remembered being at her wit’s end near constantly while she was still living at home. There were so many of them, and they were all so loud and rambunctious, and she had always craved for more peace and quiet. It was better to take her family in small doses, spending just enough time with them to have fun without their antics grating on her nerves. By the time the week was over, she’d be glad to be returning to New York, but not so desperate to leave that she wouldn’t feel a pang upon departing. As trying as they could be sometimes, they were still her family, and she would miss them, even more so than the lake.

When they’d finished eating, Sansa caught sight of the check when the waitress handed it over to Petyr, her eyes bulging slightly at the price. Petyr seemed unconcerned however, and Sansa had to hold back a laugh as she noted Arya’s very apparent disappointment at this fact. Ned thanked Petyr warmly after everything had been paid for, and everyone else joined in, nodding or murmuring their assent.

Despite how much food everyone had put away, scant leftovers packed away in take home boxes, it seemed they still had enough room for dessert, so they went to get ice cream too. Sansa smiled when Petyr chose to get mint chocolate chip ice cream, remembering how they’d eaten it with Olenna before they’d even begun dating, while watching Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan fall for each other in three different movies. She chose sugar cookie dough ice cream for herself, which had hints of lemon, to her delight. while many of her siblings opted for extra large sundaes topped with everything from hot fudge to sour gummy worms.

There was a small park near the ice cream place, so, rather than stay inside and eat, they walked around for a bit, talking and eating. Though they were far too old (and too big, size wise) for such things, Arya, Bran, and Rickon commandeered some of those bouncy rockers often found in playgrounds, hopping aboard an elephant, a donkey, and a whale, respectively, while Ygritte coaxed Jon onto the seesaw. Robb was pushing Jeyne on one of the swings in between bites of his ice cream cone, and before long Sansa couldn’t resist the temptation, and pulled Petyr over to the swingset as well. Her parents sat at one of the picnic tables, shaking their heads even as they smiled, watching their children goof off.

It was a rare dip back into the past, being at a playground with her family, grown as they all were. Sansa closed her eyes as Petyr gently pushed her to and fro, awash with memories of playing tag with her siblings, twisting the chains of the swings so that she would spin, climbing jungle gyms and going down slides. Opening them, she could almost see Arya as she had been when she was six, teetering even now on the elephant rocker. It felt so odd and out of place, to be here playing on the playground equipment so many years later, and yet it felt right too.

Because she was here, with her family, and with Petyr too. And they were having fun, remembering the children they once were.

Beside Sansa, Robb was pushing Jeyne higher and higher, and Jeyne was squealing in delight, face flushed. As Petyr pushed Sansa forward again, she lowered her feet, dragging them through the wood chips to halt her progress, before twisting the swing around so she could face him. He gripped the chains of her swing on either side of her head (his ice cream already long finished), raising his eyebrows in question as he stared down at her. She cocked her head to the side, smiling coyly, and he got the hint, leaning down to kiss her, lips and tongue tasting of mint, and chocolate too.

He pulled away, smirking, as Arya gave a moan behind them, wailing “My eyes!” in an overexaggerated attempt to get them to stop kissing.

Sansa turned her swing back around to glare at her sister, who only grinned wickedly and stuffed a handful of wood chips down the back of Rickon’s shirt. The rest of the family seemed unbothered by their display of affection, though perhaps no one else had noticed but Arya.

They all returned to the house soon after, as rain started to spit from the night darkened sky. Ygritte suggested they all play Cards Against Humanity, a suggestion that was met with resounding approval, and they all gathered in the living room, eagerly anticipating the game. Robb’s face turned scarlet as he made to sit on one of the couches with Jeyne, and a less than flattering noise erupted through the chatter. Nearly everyone howled with laughter as Robb indignantly reached under the cushion and pulled out the whoopee cushion Ned had purchased with his tickets at the entertainment center.

“I thought we’d gotten rid of all these,” Robb complained, cheeks still red.

“Bought a new one,” Ned said cheerfully, taking a seat in his favorite armchair, a can of beer clutched in his fist.

“No need to look so embarrassed, Robb,” said Arya, eyes twinkling. “Unless of course Dad forgot to inflate it.”

Robb threw the deflated whoopee cushion at Arya, who promptly began to blow it back up again. “Who’s gonna be next,” she said ominously, waving it about with glee.

Rickon, who was sitting next to Arya on the floor, stole it from her and dropped it on the ground before shoving her on top of it. The whoopee cushion sputtered in response. “You,” he said.

“Alright now, are we going to play or what?” Cat asked exasperatedly, holding up the container that held several packs of cards, including the original game and several expansion packs.

The game proved as wild as ever, prompting frequent bouts of gut-busting laughter, faces reddened from intense amusement, breaths strained. Sansa had forgotten how raunchy the game could get, and her burning cheeks were often more from feeling awkward about some of the racier cards that came up (it would have been better had her parents not been part of the game. She always recoiled at the topic of sex coming up around them) than from how hard she was laughing. None of the rest of the family seemed to have an issue, nor Petyr or Ygritte, all of them apparently born without the ability to feel shame. Only Jeyne shared in Sansa’s plight, and throughout the evening they shared more than a few sympathetic glances.

Another movie followed the game, though it took ages before they’d decided what to watch. Cat and Jeyne favored watching something more to their own tastes, namely of the romantic comedy genre, and though Sansa wouldn’t have minded, she didn’t bother joining their plea, knowing they would be outnumbered. Arya seemed intent on a horror movie, supported by Rickon and Ygritte, but Cat put her foot down, and, with a glare from his wife, Ned agreed with her decision. Instead, they settled on something goofy, a former favorite of Robb and Jon’s (and Arya’s too, actually) in particular, when they were growing up- ‘Ace Ventura: Pet Detective.’

Sansa was sure Petyr had never seen the movie before, nor was it something he’d particularly like, but he watched it with them all the same. Partway through Arya and Rickon piped up with requests for popcorn, though Sansa couldn’t imagine that they’d be hungry again, after all they’d already eaten. Still, her mother complied and went to make a few bags, returning with bowls to pass around. Sansa and Petyr declined, though she later regretted it, since that meant they had no ammunition when an all out popcorn war broke out.

That night, when she snuck into Petyr’s room, he was awake, as usual, though his laptop was off. Instead, she found him browsing through the pictures he’d copied from the family’s camera, methodically saving any that featured her. Sansa slipped into the bed next to him, then laughed as she found a stray popcorn kernel from the fight tucked into his shirt collar.

“Snack for later?” she asked, showing it to him before tossing it into the wastebin by the bed.

His mouth quirked. “And here I’d thought I’d found them all.”

Sansa grinned. “I spent ages getting all of the kernels out of my hair.”

Petyr fingered the end of her braid, holding it to his nose. “Smells like butter,” he commented.

She shrugged. “Could be worse, I suppose.”

“Indeed. I rather like your usual scent though.”

“Do you?” Sansa cocked her head to the side coyly.

Petyr set his phone on the nightstand, leaning over her as he did so, and as he retreated she slid her arms about his neck, pulling him closer, until their mouths met. And then her back was against the mattress, and he was on top of her, and somewhere along the way their clothes had been cast aside, bodies bare as they moved as one. They kept quiet, not wanting to destroy the fragile peace that her family had made with their relationship, muffling their moans against hands and shoulders. Only when they were blissfully spent did they finally drift off to sleep, limbs tangled, breaths intermingling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two more chapters and it's back to New York!


	35. Chapter 35

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last full day at the lake house. Cooking, family time, shower fun.

On Saturday everyone woke earlier than usual, mindful that this was their last full day at the lake. The mood was laced with a trace of melancholy as they feasted on an enormous omelet that might have fed a football team with plenty to spare but was no match for the Stark brood. After breakfast Petyr changed into his swimsuit as usual, then helped Sansa load up twin coolers for their day out on the water. 

Everyone seemed determined to get in as much fun as possible, moving with greater speed than usual to get the boats packed and ready. Within no time they were out on the water, and Petyr enjoyed watching Sansa ski for what was probably the last time. Until next year, at least. She really was so beautiful, out on the water. Well, she was beautiful in every moment of every day, truthfully, but there was something about the look on her face while she was skiing. It honestly stole his breath away.

Aphrodite had nothing on his sweetling, he was certain of that.

He slightly regretted that he had not joined in on any of the water sports, feeling a bit like he was missing out, but he wasn’t about to try skiing or kneeboarding for the first time while the Stark family watched him, just waiting for him to fail. And he certainly wasn’t ever going to go tubing, even if it required very little skill or effort. He wasn’t suicidal, after all. One trip out tubing and he’d feel like death itself. Or at the very least he’d be praying for it. Youth, he’d observed, was essential, when it came to tubing. Otherwise, if you dared to tube and were over the age of thirty, you were soon reminded of just how old you really were.

He’d prefer not to be reminded, thank you very much.

Petyr did, however, think on perhaps learning to ski or kneeboard sometime before next summer. For Sansa’s sake, of course. Certainly she would like for him to participate more, rather than just sitting in the boat or swimming. And she had hinted that she’d like for him to buy a boat, a few days ago.

It had nothing to do with a certain fantasy that had flitted across his consciousness of showing up Ned in both skiing and kneeboarding, despite the fact that Ned had been doing both for most of his life.

At least that’s what he told himself.

By the time they returned to the house for the evening, everyone seemed sufficiently wiped out, for once, having tested their limits out on the water to excess. The youngest Starks, Jon, Ygritte, Robb, and Jeyne all made for the basement game room, still dressed in slightly damp swimwear, with plans of relaxing in between playing Mario Kart, while they waited for dinner. Cat and Ned chose to stay outside on the deck, soaking in the sun, book, newspaper and beer in hand, respectively. 

Petyr didn’t fail to notice that this meant that the upper two floors were absent of family members for once, and neither did Sansa, judging by the sly look she gave him as they made their way upstairs. They chose to use the bathroom on the second floor, which was slightly larger than the one he normally used. It didn’t have any of his shower things, but he figured he’d make do and just use Sansa’s. Smelling like her all day was a prospect he wasn’t all that opposed to, despite the fact that it meant he’d likely smell like strawberries until his next shower. 

They managed to lock the door before they started kissing, a moment of foresight he was most grateful for, considering he didn’t relish the idea of Ned catching them. Or anyone else in the house really. Though the idea of getting caught certainly added an extra thrill to things (which was nice, though wholly unnecessary), he didn’t for a second want such a thing to actually occur. After all, the family had only just started to accept his relationship with Sansa. He wasn’t about to do anything to jeopardize that, if he could help it. 

At least, he wasn’t about to do anything to jeopardize it without making sure first that the Starks wouldn’t find out or catch them in the act.

Sansa seemed to be acting on a similar wavelength to him, as she nearly always was (gods she was so perfect), as she encouraged his behavior in all respects, happily joining in on lust filled activities while making sure to do whatever she could so that wouldn’t get caught. So he didn’t exactly feel guilty for frequently putting them in danger of her family’s wrath.

Under the hot spray of the shower it was all too easy to forget himself, her skin sliding against his, their mouths hungry. He barely contained a groan as Sansa fell to her knees before him, her lips wrapping around his cock. Thankfully the pulse of the water and the whir of the overhead fan muffled the noises that soon followed, his fingers tightening in her hair as her head bobbed.

Sansa gave his cock one last hard suck, nearly driving him over the edge, before she rose to her feet once more. Petyr kissed her with unrestrained passion, pulling her close before spinning her around so that her back was against his chest. His cock slipped easily between her wet thighs, sliding against her dripping sex, and he teased her clit for a few seconds before plunging inside her waiting heat. 

She gasped and braced her palms against the slick tiles of the shower wall as he drove into her from behind, movements quick, all too aware that they had little time afforded to them. He snaked one hand around her waist, dipping between her thighs to toy with her clit, another hand kneading one of her breasts, flicking her nipple just the way she liked it. When she came, the force of her orgasm sent him over the edge, and he shuddered, biting into the pale skin of her shoulder to keep quiet.

For a few moments they were still, breaths uneven, heartbeats scattered, and then he pulled out and she turned into his waiting embrace, mouth finding his. The kiss was full of love, and sweet promises yet unexpressed, and he wondered if she knew how desperately he wanted to ask the question that would make her his. Even if she did, he knew he would wait. It hadn’t been nearly long enough. He should wait.

Shaking that fantasy from his brain for the time being, Petyr reluctantly pulled away, knowing that they’d already spent far too long in the shower. He reached for the loufa he knew to be hers and added a dollop of her body wash to it, working the soap into a creamy lather before smoothing it along her curves. When he was finished, she did the same for him, her smile shy (even though it was hardly warranted, all things considering. Still it was most endearing), movements slightly timid, before he paid her long fiery locks their due attention, shampooing the lake water from the silky strands and rinsing them clean. Once he’d removed all of the shampoo, he massaged some conditioner into her hair, paying special attention to the ends, then waited patiently as she washed his hair as well, enjoying the feel of her fingers against his scalp.

He really could get used to this.

When they were satisfyingly clean, and could find no other reason to linger (try as they might), they turned off the shower and dried off, before dressing in the clothes they’d luckily thought to grab before they ducked into the bathroom. Petyr gently combed and detangled her hair (which he enjoyed doing far more than he would admit) before he left, making sure to grab his swim trunks on his way out.

The second and third floors were still wholly free of the house’s other occupants, a fact that Petyr noted with relief as he made his way back to his room, stopping along the way in the bathroom he normally used to hang up his bathing suit to dry and put on some deodorant. He grabbed a pair of socks from his suitcase (somehow he hadn’t yet unpacked, though he’d been here for a week and the vacation was nearly over. Likely due to the fact that, though he tried to hide it, the week had thoroughly exhausted him, both physically and mentally. He hadn’t the energy to spare for anything other than dealing with the others. And fucking Sansa, of course) and sat on the bed to pull them on before donning his shoes.

He’d just finished knotting the laces when Sansa appeared in his open doorway. She leaned against the frame, one leg bent, right arm crooked to hold her left elbow, smile serene. Petyr smiled back at her, then raised a hand, crooking a finger in a silent suggestion. As if pulled by a string attached to his beckoning finger, she came to him instantly, her arms sliding around his shoulders as she settled into his lap.

“Mmm, you smell good,” she commented. “Perhaps you should use my soap more often.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “Are you implying that I don’t normally smell good?” he asked, feigning affrontation.

She laughed. “No, I just love the scent of strawberries, that’s all.” Sansa leaned in and kissed him softly, then murmured, “I quite like the way you smell. Very…” Here she kissed him again. “Sexy,” she finished, punctuating her words with a third kiss.

“Ugh, you know, if you’re going to be all gross, the least you could do is close your door,” Arya commented, leaning against the doorway in a manner wholly unlike her sister.

Sansa pulled away enough to glare at her sister, though her arms remained firmly around Petyr’s neck. He quite liked that. “There a reason you’re here?” Sansa asked. “Considering your room’s not even on this floor.”

“I can go wherever I want,” Arya scoffed, studying her fingernails for a moment with apparent interest. She straightened, then shrugged. “Mom wanted to know if you’d help with dinner. You weren’t in your room, so I figured I’d check his.” 

Arya said ‘his’ with a certain emphasis, though it didn’t seem to have any venom in it. Perhaps his buying all of that food yesterday had softened her views toward him. Or, perhaps she’d never felt strongly towards him one way or the other, and simply just enjoyed making trouble. Petyr suspected it was a mix of both.

Sansa turned to him questioningly and he nodded his assent. “Alright,” she said, turning back to Arya. “We’ll be down in a bit.”

“K.” Arya turned and left them without another word, footsteps thumping down the hall, and then the stairs.

For their last dinner at the lake, Cat had chosen loaded twice baked potatoes, steak, a vegetable medley with broccoli, carrots and cauliflower, and cheesy jalapeno cornbread. The vegetables were frozen from a bag and needed very little prep, and the steak was to be cooked under the direction of Ned, Robb, and Jon, but the potatoes and cornbread needed their attention. Petyr and Sansa set to work scooping out the hot innards of just over a dozen baked potatoes, dumping them into a bowl where they’d be mixed with green onions, butter, sour cream, crumbled bacon, a bit of chopped jalapeno for spice, and cheddar cheese, while Cat finished preparing the cornbread.

They had just begun adding the toppings to the bowl when Cat popped the cornbread into the oven, setting the timer before she moved to grab plates for the table. “I can’t believe it’s our last night here,” she said, heaving a sigh, her voice tinged with sadness.

Sansa, who’d been heaping spoonfuls of sour cream into their potato mixture, paused in her movements, mouth turning downwards in a frown. “I wish we could come more than one week every summer,” she said wistfully.

“I do too.” Cat sighed again. “Unfortunately, what with work, it’s a miracle we all managed to get the time off to be together this year. Jon and Ygritte nearly didn’t get the time off. Though of course they’ll be coming back in August for a few days. I do wish Lyanna and Rhaegar could have joined us this summer.”

“Jon’s parents,” Sansa explained, noting Petyr’s questioning gaze. “They’re currently out of the country for work.”

Cat nodded. “It was unavoidable.” She paused. “I suppose we should consider ourselves lucky though. Were it not for the fact that Robb and I work at Ned’s company, we might have had far more difficulty securing time off.”

“Comes in handy, being the boss,” Petyr offered, dumping pre-chopped green onions into the bowl with the potatoes and reaching for the spatula.

“Or related to the boss,” Cat added cheerfully. “Truthfully, I care very little for the work, but it’s fairly easy, and Ned hates having to sit behind the desk.”

“It also helps to be dating the boss,” Arya supplied, ducking around Sansa to scoop up a bit of potato filling with her finger.

“Arya!” Cat scolded, and Petyr wondered whether she was admonishing her daughter for the comment or the rather unhygienic method she’d used to swipe a bit of potato.

Arya licked her finger clean, nodding approvingly. “Tastes good,” she said, ignoring her sister’s glare as she pulled open the fridge to grab a can of soda.

“She’s not wrong,” Petyr said, once Arya had left the kitchen, and he was certain she was out earshot.

Sansa gave him an exasperated look. “You’re not technically my boss.”

“Who said she was referring to us?” he asked innocently, his smirk betraying his tone.

Sansa rolled her eyes, then snatched the spatula away from him and began to refill the potato skins. “You’re lucky you’re cute,” she muttered, frowning as she worked.

“You know you love me.” Petyr gave her a quick peck on the cheek then picked up the package of finely shredded cheddar and began to sprinkle the potatoes with cheese once she’d filled them. 

“I do,” she admitted, only the tiniest bit begrudgingly. “Very much.” She finished scraping the last of the potato filling from the bowl and added it to a potato that was somewhat underfilled.

Cat was still in the room, awkwardly laying out silverware, but Petyr hardly cared. “I love you too,” he told Sansa, sprinkling cheese on top of the final potato before picking up the tray and sliding it into the oven.

The meal that followed was fairly pleasant, the food more than adequate (apparently Ned knew his way around a steak, though Petyr’s was a bit more well done than was his taste), and the atmosphere comfortable if slightly subdued. Everyone was clearly unhappy that the vacation was drawing to a close, though they tried their best not to show it. Petyr and Sansa lingered in the kitchen after the meal, helping Cat clean up, even though they’d already helped with dinner.

The evening was taken up with a trivia game as they all sat around a bonfire. Petyr sat with Sansa on the swing she favored, and, as partners, they faced off against Ned and Cat, Robb and Jeyne, Jon and Ygritte, and Arya and Bran, with Rickon as the moderator. With each correctly answered question, the teams received a marshmallow, which they could then roast over the fire, keep, or eat untoasted. Arya kept stealing the ones Petyr and Sansa collected (eating most, but sometimes tossing them into the fire to watch them burn), though only because they allowed it, having no appetite for more than a marshmallow or two.

Trivia ended when things got heated, and, somehow, Rickon wound up with a gob of melted marshmallow in his hair. Cat tried her best to get it out, before Rickon, grumbling about how it would grow back anyway, just told her to cut the remaining marshmallow out. Afterwards, the fire sputtered and died, since everyone had been too caught up in the drama to make sure to feed it, and they headed back inside, fleeing the sudden influx of mosquitoes.

Instead of a movie, Ned and Robb fiddled with the tv and brought up the home videos they’d taken this year, and they all settled in to watch their latest accomplishments and the rather spectacular wipeouts they’d recorded this year. Those finished, they moved on to highlights from previous years, and Petyr caught glimpses into Sansa’s life through every summer she’d spent at the lake. She’d been beautiful, even as a child, and as an infant, nestled in her mother’s arms, or sitting in the sand with a wary look upon her face. 

The rest of the Starks looked different to him as he watched the videos, so happy and carefree, their tightknit family rampant with squabbles but still so content together. Petyr knew that they had all been less relaxed during this vacation than they likely were normally, due to his presence of course, but he hadn’t realized just how much. He hoped that in time they’d accept him. If he had his way, he’d never let Sansa go, and to stay with her meant plenty of time with her family. For her sake, he wanted all of them to get along.

Of course, things had relaxed considerably since the week had started, and, so long as he didn’t fuck everything up, would continue on the same course. With time, hopefully the tensions would all be erased, and he would be accepted into the fold.

Overall, it really had been a far more pleasant week than he’d imagined. He’d actually very much enjoyed himself, even when he wasn’t just alone with Sansa, but surrounded by her family. The lake was beautiful, the house more than accommodating, the company exceptional (mainly due to Sansa). He almost wished they didn’t have to leave tomorrow.

Almost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed the shower fun ;)
> 
> One more chapter with the Starks, and then we'll see the Tyrells again! For my excited anon on tumblr, get hyped for chapter 37. For those that don't know, the next little arc includes Petyr getting sick. I think you'll like it.
> 
> After that we'll have a small time jump to fall because I want to try and post Christmas by Christmas (which has yet to be written). And I prob might be posting a bit more frequently because of that, especially now that I've finished Nanowrimo. 
> 
> Oh, and if you don't know it already, you can follow me on tumblr as @petyrbaealish. I follow back as @aeaofthefae (personal blog), and you should totally follow me there as well, because I plan on using it for my original works when I finish writing my first book :D.


	36. Chapter 36

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vacation ends. Goodbyes (for now).

Sansa woke Sunday morning in less than good spirits, knowing that their vacation had sadly drawn to a close. They would have the morning to get in one last boat ride and maybe a swim, then return to the house to have lunch, pack and clean, before driving back to Ohio that afternoon. She and Petyr had a flight to catch, and everyone had to work the next day, so they really couldn’t linger at the lake house, however much they wanted to.

Breakfast was rather subdued, her parents making half-hearted attempts at cheerful conversation as the rest of them picked at their food. Sansa could always tell when her siblings were upset. Their normally voracious appetites always lessened considerably, though they still consumed more than a normal person might.

After they finished eating, everyone scrambled to get ready for their last trip out on the water, moving with far more haste than usual, in hopes of having more time for what they really wanted. Since they wouldn’t be doing anything other than swimming today, everything from skis to inner tubes packed away last night to prepare for their departure, it didn’t matter which boat anyone chose, and they left the docks with far less hassle than usual. Both boats were steered directly to a sandbar, and everyone jumped into the water for a quick swim.

Arya had brought along the flamingo float, and was trying to force Rickon into using it, until Robb stole it away from her so Jeyne could use it. Sansa lounged on her stomach on the pizza slice float, chin propped up on her arms while Petyr stood by her head, keeping her from drifting off or getting hit by the beach ball that was rocketing around courtesy of her siblings, cousin, and Ygritte. Cat and Ned stayed on the ski boat, talking about everything they needed to get done before they left that afternoon.

Sansa knew Petyr could tell she wasn’t ready to leave, but it wasn’t as if they had a choice in the matter. Everyone was leaving today, and they all had work or other obligations. Unfortunately, though they’d enjoyed their vacation, it had come to an end whether they wanted it to or not. Only the incredibly wealthy could afford such luxury for a far more extended period of time.

Of course, Sansa suspected Petyr had enough money that he’d probably never have to work another day in his life, but she knew no matter how much money he had, he’d always work. He wasn’t meant for idleness. She knew he’d only gotten through this week by working after he returned to his room for the night. Not being productive wasn’t something he particularly liked. His mind wouldn’t allow it. She wouldn’t either, really. Not to excess anyway. It would be a waste of his potential, for him not to exercise that cunning mind of his.

It seemed not nearly enough time before her parents called them all back into the boats, and they all reluctantly complied. Sansa wrapped her towel around her waist and curled up on a seat next to Petyr, just enjoying the sun warming her skin and the soft breeze as her parents drove the boats around the lake for a few minutes. She kept her eyes peeled, drinking in the sights of the sun glinting off of the dark, rolling waves, the clear blue sky, the gulls flying through the air.

Oh, she was really going to miss this.

When they returned to the house, Sansa and Petyr helped everyone else unload the boats, checking every nook and cranny to make sure they removed everything. They unloaded most of the stuff into the boatshed, carrying the rest to the house, her father, Robb, and Jon staying outside to square away the boats, paddleboat, and jet skis.

Sansa and Petyr each ducked in to get a quick shower before they helped get everything cleaned and packed up, though sadly they weren’t able to do so together. Once she was clean, she quickly combed and braided her wet hair, then packed up her belongings. Luckily, she’d been diligent about returning her stuff to her room, so she was fairly confident that she had everything, though she’d do a sweep of the rest of the house just in case. When she’d finished, she set her bag on her bed, sheets newly stripped and awaiting a wash, then went upstairs to check on Petyr.

He was still packing his suitcase, methodically organizing everything just so, and she stifled a laugh at his perfectionistic behavior, knowing she loved him for it even as it amused her. She might have helped him, but she knew only he knew the method to his madness, and he was nearly finished anyway.

Petyr placed one last item into his bag, then carefully zipped it shut and moved it to the end of his bed, dead center, before glancing up at her expectantly. “All set?”

Sansa nodded. “I think so. I’ll check the rest of the house before we leave to be sure though.”

They spent the next hour helping everyone clean up, a task which, despite the size of the house, didn’t take all that long, with everyone pitching in. Once finished with clean up, they broke for a quick lunch of Subway, which Robb and Jeyne had picked up for everyone, then gathered everything they would be bringing home in the entryway. Ned and Cat insisted that everyone check every single room in the house before they left, to make sure they weren’t leaving anything behind, and, once satisfied, began to pack up the cars.

It took longer than it should have, to load everything into the cars, everything they’d brought somehow stubbornly refusing to fit, despite the fact that they were bringing less home. Even with Sansa’s giant teddy bear from the Rec Center (which she’d have to leave at home for now, sadly), they shouldn’t have had so much trouble, with all of the food they’d brought long digested, but still, they struggled, tempers flaring as they rearranged things in hopes of making them fit.

When they’d finally managed it, everyone climbed wearily into their seats, ready for the journey home. Sansa watched wistfully out the window as Robb pulled his SUV out of the drive, saying goodbye to another summer at the lake. She only turned away when she could no longer see the property, and as she settled back in her seat, she couldn’t contain a sigh, the sound speaking volumes as to her yearning.

Petyr reached for her hand, taking it in his, his thumb gently rubbing across her knuckles in a silent show of comfort. She smiled gratefully at him, then moved in her seat to lean against his side, snuggling closer as he released her hand and wound his arm around her shoulders instead.

In the front seat, Robb and Jeyne were both quiet, Robb keeping his eyes on the road with a rather glum set to his mouth, and Jeyne frowning down at her phone in between casting anxious gazes at her boyfriend and Sansa and Petyr through the rearview mirror. Finally, clearly uncomfortable with the silence, Jeyne sighed and reached for the knob to turn on the radio, filling the car with a cheerful beat that did little to dispel the mood permeating the atmosphere.

Robb gave a small grunt of displeasure at being subjected to Miley Cyrus, prompting Jeyne to give a frustrated huff before she reached over and changed the station. “Well, what do _you_ want to listen to?” she asked, annoyed.

“Sports updates?” Robb asked hopefully, deflating as he caught Jeyne’s expression. “Or, you know, classic rock is fine,” he amended hastily.

Satisfied, Jeyne searched for a classic rock station, the beginning notes of ‘Hotel California’ by the Eagles coming through the speakers before she settled back in her seat. “You two heading back to New York tonight?” she asked Sansa, meeting her gaze through the rearview mirror.

Sansa nodded. “Yes. Our flight leaves in a few hours.”

“Cutting it a bit close, aren’t you?” Robb commented.

“Nah, we’ll be ok. The airport’s not too far from mom and dad’s, and Petyr’s good at getting us through security quickly,” Sansa assured him.

“Lucky,” Jeyne grumbled. “I always seem to get picked for a more thorough search,” she complained.

“Well, you always bring something you’re not supposed to,” Robb reminded her.

“The rules are stupid,” Jeyne shot back. “There’s no reason for some of those restrictions.”

“But if they say you can’t bring something, and you bring it anyway, you can hardly fault them for calling you out on it,” Robb said exasperatedly.

This bout of bickering lasted for awhile, but Sansa didn’t entirely mind, as it kept their minds occupied and away from what they were leaving behind. Still snuggled into Petyr’s side, she pulled out her phone and opened a book on her kindle app, reading while Jeyne and Robb argued and Petyr sifted through that day’s news on his own phone.

Eventually, Robb and Jeyne changed tack, talking about what they would have to do when they got back (they were living together, unbeknownst to Ned and Cat), and occasionally drawing Sansa into the conversation. Jeyne seemed most curious to hear about Sansa’s current living situation, and she liked hearing about Varys and Olenna, and about how Sansa and Petyr had met. Sansa happily answered Jeyne’s questions, wishing someone from her own family had bothered to ask any of them, but satisfied that Jeyne at least was interested, and that Robb heard everything she said and would likely report his findings to the rest of the family.

When they finally pulled into the drive of her childhood home, Sansa was struck with the prospect of saying goodbye to everyone, a lump in her throat rebelling against the idea. She and Petyr stuck around while everything not owned by Jon and Ygritte, and Robb and Jeyne, was removed from their respective cars, Sansa and Petyr’s luggage transferred into the Stark family van once enough room had been made. With several rounds of slightly tearful hugs, Jon and Ygritte said goodbye, then Robb and Jeyne (though Robb and Jeyne were only saying goodbye to Jon, Ygritte, Sansa and Petyr, since they lived just one town over from the rest). Sansa watched dejectedly as they all pulled out of the driveway, then said her goodbyes to her younger siblings.

Rickon hugged her reluctantly, of an age where he often eschewed family affection in favor of seeming cool, but Bran held her close, offering her a sweet smile as they parted. “Have a safe trip back,” he told her.

“And try not to get mugged,” Arya added cheerfully, leaning in to give her a squeeze and playfully socking her on the arm.

Sansa rolled her eyes. “I’ve never once been mugged.”

Arya shrugged. “So you’re due then.” She cast her gaze over to Petyr. “Especially when you’ve got him beside you. His clothes practically scream ‘I’ve got money to burn.’”

Petyr chuckled. “Which is why I usually steer clear of the less reputable neighborhoods. Well, other than the fact that they have little of value to draw me there.”

“Speaking of money to burn,” Arya said slyly. “If you were to float me a couple hundred I might not be so hard on you next time we meet.”

“Arya!” Sansa glared at her sister, hardly believing her ears.

Petyr seemed unperturbed. “Were you hard on me? I hadn’t noticed.” He checked his watch, then added, “If you want money, you’ll have to earn it. Refrain from doing anything to upset your sister next time we meet, and we might have a deal.”

Sansa gave him an exasperated look. “Don’t encourage her.”

Arya looked briefly taken aback, but she nodded, mouth curving into a wicked grin before she turned to head into the house. “I’m holding you to that,” she called over her shoulder.

“Just so you know, upsetting me includes doing anything to bother Petyr,” Sansa yelled after Arya as the younger girl yanked open the front door and disappeared inside.

Beside her, Petyr chuckled, but before Sansa could reprimand him, her parents appeared at the front door, ready to drive them to the airport.

“All set?” Ned asked them expectantly.

Sansa nodded, biting her lower lip in an effort to hide the tremor that was threatening to take over. She was going to miss everyone. So much.

Her father slipped into the driver’s seat, and, after a moment’s hesitation, and a furtive glance in Petyr’s direction, her mother sat up front. Sansa climbed into the second row of seats, behind her mother, leaving Petyr to take the one behind her father. Unfortunately, due to the car’s set up, they were unable to sit as close as they had done in Robb’s car, the seats in the second row separated with their own armrests, an aisle between them that led to the back row bench seat. Still, craving the comfort of his touch, Sansa reached out to take Petyr’s hand as the car backed out of the driveway.

The car was awkwardly silent for a few minutes, more so even than it had been initially driving back with Robb and Jeyne. Then, Sansa bravely spoke up, not wanting to waste the last moments she would have with her parents for a couple of months, at the very least.

“Thank you both for another wonderful family vacation,” she told her parents. “Every year, I look forward to it, and every year it’s more than worth wait.”

Cat turned in her seat, smiling at Sansa. “Of course, sunshine. We hope that this is a tradition we can continue always.” She paused. “I imagine next year we will have a new little addition, if Jon and Ygritte join us again. I must say, I’m quite looking forward to having little ones around again, and hope that many more are in our future.” She paused again, face reddening as her eyes darted between Sansa and Petyr. “Not that I’m suggesting anything,” she amended hastily.

Ned made a sort of strangled choking noise and started coughing.

“I only meant that Robb and Jeyne have been together for quite awhile, and Jeyne has always loved babies,” her mother quickly continued, glancing worriedly at Ned.

Sansa let out an awkward laugh. “I assumed that was what you meant,” she assured Cat. “And yes, I’m sure it won’t be too long before you and Dad have grandchildren.”

The car lurched suddenly, as her father gripped the wheel too tightly, accidentally over correcting his trajectory as his anxiety over their topic of conversation got the better of him.

“From Robb and Jeyne,” Sansa clarified, unable to keep from rolling her eyes at her parents’ reaction, even in sight of her mother. “It will be fun seeing how the kids take to the water, when the time comes.”

Cat nodded, looking relieved, and Ned’s grip on the steering wheel loosened. “I wonder what they’ll have,” Cat said thoughtfully.

Sansa shrugged, not knowing whether her mom meant Jon and Ygritte or Robb and Jeyne’s potential offspring. She cast a look over at Petyr, wondering what he thought of all of this baby talk, but his gaze was directed at his phone. He’d probably been listening of course, but if she had hoped to learn anything from his reactions, she was out of luck.

Not that she was even thinking about babies yet. They’d only been dating for a little over a month. But she did wonder, if they were to stay together long enough to start considering such things (which she sincerely hoped they would), if children were in the realm of possibilities. She wasn’t quite sure herself if she wanted kids, but she hoped that the option was at least up for discussion.

She squeezed his hand and he glanced up at her, offering her a lopsided smile that made her heart skip a beat. Oh, she really did love him.

“So you’ll be resuming work tomorrow?” Cat asked, breaking Sansa from her reverie.

Sansa nodded her affirmation. “Though honestly it hardly feels like work. Olenna and I get along so well, and though she grumbles about her exercises she does her best. Other than that, I do the chores, but both Varys and Olenna pitch in, and Varys in particular is meticulous about cleaning up after himself, so the work is never overwhelming.” She paused. “Everyone has been really good to me. I am really happy working there.”

Cat’s gaze softened. “That’s good to hear, sunshine.” She glanced at Ned. “Your father and I worry about you, all alone without any of us close by, in the city. I’m glad that you’ve found people you can count on.”

Sansa smiled at her mother, then at Petyr. “I have,” she said softly.

 

* * *

 

When they arrived at the airport, Sansa said her goodbyes to her parents at the car, not wanting to drag them through the crowds. Her father enveloped her in a big, bone crunching bear hug, releasing her rather reluctantly so that she could hug her mother too.

She stepped back from her mother’s embrace, blinking back tears, but had to choke back a laugh as she noticed the expression on her father’s face as Petyr offered his hand to say goodbye.

Ned took Petyr’s hand, shaking it briefly before releasing it, his hand dangling at his side with an awkwardness that matched his expression. “You take care of her,” Ned grunted, averting his eyes as he spoke. “And remember our conversation from before.”

“Oh, I will,” Petyr assured him, turning his attention to Cat. “Good to see you again, Cat. You have a lovely family.” He paused, then continued, directing his words to both of her parents. “And thank you both for allowing me to come this past week. I know how much it means to Sansa, that we all set aside the past and get along, and truly, I am grateful for your hospitality.”

Ned gaped at Petyr for a moment, before recovering himself and giving Petyr a curt nod. Cat smiled tentatively in acknowledgement then pulled Sansa in for another hug. “Oh, I’m going to miss you, but if you don’t get moving you’ll likely miss your flight.”

“I’ll miss you too,” Sansa told them. “So much.” She glanced over at Petyr, then back at her parents. “Perhaps sometime you could all come to New York? Maybe around the holidays?”

Her parents shared a look then turned back to her. “We’d like that,” Cat said warmly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're back in New York with the Tyrells in the next chapter! To be posted maybe Sunday or Monday :). For those anxiously waiting, chapter 37 is the beginning of a little arc where Petyr gets sick and it lasts through chapter 41 I think.


	37. Chapter 37

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Petyr and Sansa arrive back in Manhattan and enjoy a long awaited evening alone. The next day, Petyr goes to work, only to realize that maybe he should have stayed home after all.
> 
> For the excited anon on tumblr :).

By the time their flight landed, Petyr and Sansa were starving. As it was a short flight, and still early, they hadn’t been served dinner, and neither of them had had any inclination to eat airline peanuts. They took a cab straight back to his apartment, wearily setting their bags down in the entryway before ordering the same chinese take out they’d ordered on their first date, having decided on the trip over.

Normally Petyr hated using taxis, always making sure someone was available to pick him up after journeys out of state, but Olyvar had his hands full at the club, and he didn’t want to ask anyone from his family. He knew that if he had, he and Sansa would have ended up out to dinner with Olenna and the others, and after a week spent with Sansa’s family, he rather needed a break from socialization. Not to mention, some much needed alone time with Sansa. The near constant presence of so many others had exhausted him like nothing else had.

Sansa was of a similar mind, and, when he suggested that they stay overnight at his place, seemed grateful for the prospect of peace and quiet that his apartment would afford them. Both of them wasted little time in kicking off shoes and making themselves comfortable on the couch, only moving when the delivery person signaled that they were here. When Petyr came back to the living room, food in hand, Sansa was just hanging up her phone.

“Just called my parents to let them know I got back ok,” she explained.

Petyr nodded, setting the bag of food on the coffee table, next to the drinks and plates they’d retrieved from the kitchen earlier. “I should probably do that myself,” he said, digging his phone out of his pocket before he sat down.

“Good idea,” Sansa said, leaning forward to unpack their food. “Otherwise you’ll hear it from Olenna tomorrow.”

Quickly, he fired off a text to Olenna, not wanting to take the time to call, with food waiting for him, hot and fragrant, steam rising from the newly opened containers. Olenna’s response was almost immediate, a one word response of ‘K,’ followed shortly after by ‘I’m glad’. He wasn’t surprised. Olenna was never one to make a habit of openly expressing her affection for her loved ones, at least not verbally, yet they all knew she cared regardless. It was subtle, hidden by barbed witticisms and scoldings, but it was there.

And, of course, she always told them she loved them on the days where she felt it counted most: holidays and birthdays, and times of extreme strife. On days when they needed it, she said the words, though they were more of a reassurance than a revelation. Petyr, Varys, Margaery, and Loras all knew that they were loved, and though they didn’t hear verbal confirmation often, that they knew was all that mattered.

Petyr sank back against the couch cushions, accepting the plate that Sansa had obligingly fixed for him while he texted Olenna. Sansa had put on their old standby, Doctor Who (they were on to the Eleventh Doctor now), and they both settled in to eat, just enjoying the food, the show, and each other.

When they’d finished eating, they lingered for a bit, watching another episode, then took a soak together in his tub, letting the hot water soothe their muscles, which had cramped from the day’s travel. Sansa was in his lap, her back against his chest, head tilted back to expose her neck as he trailed kissed down her pale skin, a breast in each palm. She groaned as he teased the sensitive buds of her nipples, the vibration tickling his lips as he latched onto her pulse point.

The water stirred as she squirmed under his attentions, and as she shifted, he felt his cock rub against her slit, the resulting jolt temporarily halting his assault. Sansa took advantage of this lapse, twisting in his arms to straddle his lap instead, her lips finding his as his cock found her center. Petyr slid his hands underwater to find her waist, guiding her hips down until he was sheathed completely, and as he did so she broke away from the kiss, her lips parting in a silent ‘Ohhh.’

She began to move, eyes closed, pale lashes fanned against creamy skin, lips still parted and glistening with moisture. The pace was slow, mindful of the fact that they were in the bath, but it hardly needed quickening. He angled his hips as she rose and fell above him, stroking the spot within her that he knew drove her wild. Water sloshed over the edge of the tub, but he barely noticed, too enraptured with the sight of Sansa before him, forehead crinkled in concentration as she sought her release.

She looked so exquisite, pale skin beaded with bath water and sweat, damp tendrils of fire clinging to her neck and trailing down her back, expression steadily nearing rapture. Petyr felt nearly undone, just from watching her, but he refused to fall without sending her over the edge first. He moved his hand between her legs, finding her nub with his thumb, his eyes still on her face, and her mouth fell open, releasing a low moan that swiftly turned sharp.

Sansa’s eyes flew open and she cried out, shuddering above him. Though her movements slowly began to still, he arched his hips to continue thrusting up into her, carrying her through her bliss, until he could hold back no longer, spilling inside of her with a guttural moan that tasted of her, only her. She slumped against his chest, forehead resting damp against his, and he held her close, trailing his fingers down her spine as she caught her breath.

Afterwards, they crawled into bed, foregoing clothes, and he reveled in the feel of his king sized mattress and high quality sheets, the space and superior comfort and fabric a welcome respite after a week in a twin sized bed with polyblend sheets. Though, of course, despite the extra space, Sansa was still snuggled in his arms, but that had never been his complaint about the twin bed in the first place. Rather, Petyr just didn’t want to wake up in the middle of the night tumbling to the floor because he’d forgotten that he couldn’t do more than lie on his side with Sansa next to him. Nor did he want to wake up with either Ned or Cat throttling him for being in bed with their daughter. Knowing he was safe from such a rude awakening did numbers for his sleep quality.

Not to mention the proper lumbar support.

The next morning, Petyr was more reluctant to rise than he’d ever been before. He’d missed sleeping in his own bed, here with Sansa, and he was starting to wish that he’d requested the Monday after their vacation off, to rest and recuperate from what was supposed to be a week of rest and recuperation. Sansa seemed to agree with this sentiment, only snuggling closer when he made a feeble attempt to get up.

He groaned, wishing he’d had better foresight about his mental state for today when he’d requested his vacation. “As much as I would rather stay abed with you, sweetling, I must get moving.”

Her arms tightened around him, and he felt rather than saw her head shaking, an affirmative ‘no’ barely audible as she mumbled it against his neck. Petyr groaned again, though his frustration had nothing to do with her refusal. Usually he was better at anticipating his own needs well in advance. If only he’d been thinking properly, he would have asked for today off. Or just quit.

Quitting sounded nice, really.

Honestly though, as much as he detested his current predicament, he knew there were far worse problems to have. In fact, a part of him was secretly thrilled that he actually had someone who made him want to skip work, to forgo all obligations. Who made him, a man always so good at knowing and planning for every possible outcome, _always_ , suddenly find himself scrabbling for purchase on the chessboard.

Petyr should have hated that she’d paved the way for such weakness within him, and yet he found he adored her all the more for it. She could disrupt his life in every way, shape and form, had in fact done so, and he would only love her more deeply for it.

The fact that she seemed to love him just as ardently was just the icing on the cake, an added benefit. For he knew, that even if his affections were unrequited, he would still welcome the havoc she’d brought into his life.

Of course, he was definitely grateful, so incredibly grateful that that wasn’t the case. He wasn’t sure what he’d done to deserve Sansa’s love, but he wouldn’t question it. Not when he was afraid that every moment of every day he might suddenly wake up and realize it was all just a beautiful dream. Such a thought was a nightmare in itself, truly. Petyr hoped that if it was just a dream, that he would never wake up. A dream such as this one was always preferable to reality. And now that he’d had a taste, he couldn’t possibly go back.

Petyr hadn’t realized he’d been so wrapped up in his thoughts, for the gods knew how long, until Sansa pulled away, brow crinkling. “I really expected you might put up more of a fight,” she said, looking amused.

He chuckled, mouth twisting in a smirk. “Why, when you know I’d certainly rather stay here with you?”

“Hmm, because I know you. You’d hate to be late for work,” she reasoned, nuzzling her nose against his before she kissed him softly, sighing against his mouth.

As she pulled back, he kissed her again, threading his fingers through her hair in an unconscious effort to keep her from retreating again. Sansa yielded for a minute, then two, before pulling away again, resting her forehead against his, eyes closed.

“Because I love you, and I don’t want you to do anything you’ll regret, I’m going to get up now,” she told him softly, before gently prying herself free from his grasp and slipping out of the bed.

Petyr watched her pad out of his room, still naked, and wished again that he’d asked for today off. Cursing his past self, he got out of bed and quickly dressed, ducking into the bathroom to brush his teeth and fix his hair before he left to find where she’d gone.

He found her in the entryway, shrugging on a t-shirt, her bag open on the floor by her feet. Knowing it would hamper her efforts and not entirely caring, Petyr wrapped his arms around her waist from behind, pulling her body flush against his as he kissed along her exposed neck. She’d tied up her hair in a messy bun rather than leaving it loose as she normally did, which made his efforts to attack her neck easier, so, for once, he didn’t wish she’d left it down.

Sadly, though she allowed the indulgence for a few seconds, she soon stepped free of his embrace, ever mindful of the lateness of the hour, even as he kept assuring her that he really didn’t care (he really didn’t. Fuck LASE, honestly. He could stand to miss a day, and he didn’t really need the job anyway). Still, she was relentless in her insistence that he go to work, so he reluctantly gave in, driving her back to Varys’ place before heading to the Red Keep.

His day was worse than he could have imagined.

Not due to his bosses or coworkers, mind you, for once, but due to reasons wholly unexpected. Petyr wasn’t sure if it had simply come on suddenly, or if he’d been so focused on Sansa that he hadn’t noticed it, but only two hours into his work day he was struck down with a most unwelcome realization.

He was sick.

The feeling had hit him like a freight train, his body lashed to the tracks by whatever asshat had passed the illness on to him. His head throbbed, his muscles sagged with exhaustion, and his chest ached, each breath a struggle, even with minimal activity. The day dragged on, and with every passing minute he felt worse, every inch of his body flooded with a fatigue from living a thousand lifetimes, until he was struggling not to shove aside his computer and plant his head on the desk, closing his eyes as he prayed for death.

Petyr wondered if Sansa was ok, but apparently he’d forgotten to charge his phone last night, and the charger he usually kept in his office was stubbornly, infuriatingly absent from its usual location. Though he tried to search for it initially, he quickly gave it up as a lost cause when he nearly passed out from the effort. Instead, he decided he’d drop by Varys’ after work. That is, if he didn’t drop dead before then, which was entirely possible.

When his work day finally came to an end, Petyr shut down his computer, certain he’d probably just fucked up years of careful accounting in a matter of hours, due to his impaired mental state. It took him far longer than should have been reasonably possible to hunt down his phone, keys, and wallet, and then considerably more effort to force himself to act like he wasn’t on the verge of collapsing as he made his way to the elevators, and then to his space in the carport.

Somehow, he wasn’t exactly sure of the specifics, he managed to make it to Varys’. Unfortunately, the door was locked, so he leaned against it, strangely unable to even muster the strength to stand upright while he waited, and knocked, the sound of his knuckles colliding with door sounding feeble even to his own ears. He still couldn’t seem to breathe properly, every breath he took requiring increased effort, the simple act of breathing somehow exhausting him more than anything.

It seemed an eternity before someone answered the door, and Petyr found himself closing his eyes as he rested his cheek against the treated wood, which felt wonderfully cool against his skin. When the door opened, he tilted off balance and stumbled as he lost his means of support, only to have someone catch him before he fell.

It probably would have been smarter, in hindsight, not to lean against the door….

“Well, it certainly looks as if you’ve had a rough week,” Varys commented. “Ned and Cat put you through the ringer, huh?”

Petyr struggled to regain his footing, clutching his brother’s arm for the support he’d previously relied on Varys’ front door for. “What?” he gasped, confused. “No, I-” he started to explain, then cut himself off, shaking his head, the effort to speak and stand making him dizzy.

Varys frowned at him, expression turning concerned. “Sansa?” he called, his voice suddenly urgent. Quickly, Varys shut the door with one hand, then looped Petyr’s arm around his shoulders and began to help him over to the couch. “How did you even get up here?” he asked, as Petyr sank gratefully against the cushions.

Petyr just shrugged, closing his eyes as he fought to get enough oxygen to his lungs. He vaguely heard the sound of footsteps, then a gasp and someone rushed to his side.

“Gods, what happened?” Sansa asked, sinking down on the couch next to him. “You were fine when you dropped me off this morning.”

Petyr shrugged again and allowed his body to slump against hers, his head drifting onto her shoulder as she felt his brow.

“He’s definitely burning up,” she commented, sounding worried.

“What do you think it is?” Varys asked.

“I’m not sure,” she replied. “I swear he was fine this morning,” she continued, then paused. “Why didn’t you call me and let me know you weren’t feeling well?”

Still struggling to catch his breath enough to speak, Petyr fumbled in his pocket for his phone, opening his eyes enough so that he could press it into her hand. Sansa tried to turn it on and sighed, gathering his meaning easily when it refused.

“Can you go get me the thermometer and plug in his phone?” she asked Varys. “It wouldn’t be good for him to miss anything, even if he’s not entirely up to the challenge of handling a crisis at the moment.”

Varys took Petyr’s phone from her without complaint and went to plug it in. “What about Olenna?” he inquired.

“I’m texting her now. If you could pick her up, I’d be grateful.”

“Of course,” Varys assured her, then disappeared down the hall in search of a thermometer.

“Petyr?” she asked softly, smoothing his hair back from his forehead. “What’s wrong? Can you tell me your symptoms?”

He groaned, but enough time had finally passed that he’d recovered somewhat from his earlier exertion. “Can’t breathe,” he mumbled. “Head hurts. Chest too. So tired.” It seemed he couldn’t say more than two word sentences at the moment. Nor words with more than one syllable. As if whatever he had hadn’t already robbed him of enough, it had stolen his eloquence.

Varys returned with the thermometer and Sansa took it from him, uncapping it and turning it on before looking at Petyr expectantly. He made to reach for it but she shook her head, raising her hand until the thermometer was level with his mouth. Had he felt better, he might have chuckled at this insistence, but as it was he simply opened his mouth obligingly and waited while she slid the tip of the thermometer under his tongue before closing it again. She continued to hold it in place, frowning as the numbers spiked higher than they should have. Varys hovered over them with his hands clasped about his middle, looking uncertain.

When the thermometer beeped, Sansa pulled it out from under Petyr’s tongue and sighed. “Well, he’s definitely got a fever, though I don’t think it’s bad enough to warrant a trip to the emergency room. At least not yet.”

“Not going,” Petyr insisted, then turned and buried his head in the crook of her shoulder. His voice and actions seemed like that of a petulant child’s, even to him, but he hardly cared. There was no fucking way he was going to the ER.

“You will if I think it’s necessary,” Sansa countered. There was a brief silence, then she spoke again. “Right, well Olenna says she can play poker any old night. You’re still ok with picking her up?”

“It’s a far more alluring task than taking care of him, that’s for sure,” Varys said dryly. “He’s always been impossible to deal with when he’s sick. Either he refuses to rest and keeps on as normal, or, when he’s finally forced to rest, he whines and complains and refuses to cooperate with anything.”

“He seems to be doing neither at the moment,” Sansa commented.

“Just you wait,” Varys assured her, retrieving his keys and heading for the door. “He’s going to be completely insufferable.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor baby :(. Luckily he's got his family, and Sansa, to take care of him. I think you're going to love the next chapter-it's got some background info about Petyr and Varys' adoptions :). The next few chapters will deal with Petyr being sick, and then we'll have a time jump to autumn and the holidays.


	38. Chapter 38

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Olenna tells Sansa more about Petyr and Varys’ pasts, and her own.

Varys hadn’t been lying, when he’d told Sansa that Petyr would be absolutely insufferable as a patient. Had she not loved him so much, she might have strangled him. He simply refused to cooperate, insisting that under no circumstances would he go to the emergency room, even as his fever spiked. Even the combined forces of Olenna, Sansa, and Varys weren’t enough to convince him that he should go, and, when they’d tried to forcibly take him anyway, somehow, despite his weakened state, he managed to get away and lock himself in the bathroom, refusing to come out until they promised in writing that they wouldn’t try again.

Of course, even as her love for him kept her from wanting to kill him, it also made her want to kill him even more for not cooperating, since she wouldn’t have cared so much about getting him to the hospital otherwise, a lovely little contradiction if there ever was one.

At least he took the pills she’d offered him, over the counter medicine she always kept on hand for colds and the like, though she thought that perhaps this was far worse than a cold. Rather, she suspected he might have pneumonia, but there was no telling for certain unless she could get him to a doctor. She hoped that by tomorrow morning, if he wasn’t any better, he’d be more receptive to at least making an appointment to see a doctor.

Though Sansa knew Petyr would prefer to return home and sleep in his own bed, rather than hers (which he always complained about), he wasn’t in any condition to stand in the elevator or walk to the car, so she insisted that he stay. And he did, surprisingly without complaint, but that might have only been that the drugs were finally kicking in and he soon passed out, mouth hanging open since he couldn’t seem to take in enough oxygen through his nose alone. It was funny really, seeing him so undignified, and she felt a rush of affection for him as she tugged off his shoes and removed his tie before tucking him in.

Both Olenna and Varys were hovering anxiously outside of her bedroom door when she left, though each tried to pretend otherwise, scrabbling to find some reason for lingering there other than concern. Varys dove for his liquor cabinet, pouring himself a glass of his favorite sherry, and Olenna rifled through a nearby end table, putting up a good show of searching for something before sighing and closing the drawer.

“And how is our stubborn pain of a houseguest?” Varys drawled, his tone trying, and failing, to conceal the genuine worry in his question.

Olenna snorted. “Stubborn is an understatement. I’ve half a mind to drag him to the ER while he’s passed out. Only this blasted thing,” here she indicated her cane, “and the fact that he’s such a light sleeper is keeping me from doing just that.”

Sansa sighed. “I wish he would go too, but for now, at least, I won’t try to force him.” She paused, remembering their brief attempt earlier to do just that, then amended, “Not again anyway. Hopefully, if he gets any worse he’ll agree to at least make an appointment tomorrow.”

“He won’t,” said Olenna, shaking her head as she ushered them away from Sansa’s door and towards the living room. “He’s always done anything he could to avoid the doctor. Can’t entirely blame him, in truth, what with how often he found himself there as a kid, before we took him in. First his mother, who was in and out with ovarian cancer, and then his father, who basically drank himself to death after Alayne passed and landed himself in the hospital more than a few times on the brink of alcohol poisoning.” She sighed. “And then of course the incident with your father. I was surprised when he visited me after I fell, back before we hired you. It seems he’s more willing to go when it’s a loved one at risk than when it’s his own life.”

“He’s always been a bit of an idiot,” Varys muttered, then winced as Olenna poked him with her cane.

“Yes, but he’s _our_ idiot, and you can hardly blame him,” she snapped. “I don’t much like hospitals myself, and I don’t have half as many demons associated with them as he does. Not to mention, he’s always been so determined to take care of himself and be completely independent, even as a boy. I think, deep down, even if he’s not aware of it, he’s afraid that if he doesn’t take care of himself, no one will. And certainly he’s terrified of losing anyone else. As much as Luthor and I tried to show him how loved he was, losing his parents at such a young age damaged him deeply.”

Varys swilled the sherry around in his glass thoughtfully. “Thankfully I’ve escaped that particular misfortune. Not really remembering your birth parents sometimes has its perks. Their loss hasn’t had the effect on me that the loss of Petyr’s parents had on him.”

“Hasn’t it?” Olenna asked doubtfully, raising her eyebrows.

“If you're referring to the lack of grandchildren I've given you or my drag persona,” Varys began, tone wary.

“Of course not,” Olenna waved this suggestion off dismissively as she settled onto the couch. “There's nothing wrong with expressing yourself that way or with not being interested in pursuits of a romantic nature. I meant rather your propensity to act just like Petyr and scheme and snipe at people instead of being direct.”

Sansa dropped onto the couch next to Olenna, feeling far too drained at the moment to chime in, but interested in receiving whatever nuggets of information this exchange might gift her.

Varys chuckled. “I think we may have learned that in part from you, dear mother.”

“Hardly. I've always made a point of being direct with both of you, as well as with anyone else,” Olenna threw back.

“I said in part. Sniping at one another is our way of showing affection, just as it is yours,” Varys argued, shifting a kitchen chair around so that he could face his mother.

“Perhaps then I'm more at fault for your dysfunction than I realized,” Olenna replied, voice defensive and coupled with a sigh of regret.

Varys looked contrite, obviously regretting where the conversation was heading, and that his words had caused his mother such consternation. “It's not dysfunctional if it works and we're happy. And I have always been happy, and I think you have been too, despite losing Luthor, and Mace and Alerie. As for Petyr, he's had his own demons that stem from too much tragedy but I know he's been happy with us as his family.”

“I suppose you're right. And he has been happier overall as late,” Olenna said, winking at Sansa, who blushed in response.

Assured that he’d corrected his faux paux, Varys downed the rest of his sherry. “Well, I’m off to bed. If he worsens in the night, do not hesitate to rouse me. He may be an insufferable twat but he’s still my brother.”

Sansa nodded. “Goodnight.”

Olenna just rolled her eyes and Varys waved at them over his shoulder as he left for his bedroom. When he was out of sight, Sansa sighed again, then startled as the older woman suddenly pulled her in for a hug.

“He’ll be ok,” Olenna assured her, patting her back comfortingly. “If he’s still sick in the morning, with no improvement, we’ll make an appointment for him and take him, regardless of what he wants.”

“And if he refuses to go again? Or insists on going in to work?” Sansa asked, remembering how, in a fit of sudden strength and lucidity, he’d locked himself in the bathroom earlier.

“Trust me, chickadee. A mother knows how to handle her children,” Olenna replied knowingly, pulling away and tweaking Sansa’s cheek affectionately.

Sansa smiled at her, grateful for the reassurance that she’d needed so badly. Emboldened by this affection, and filled with a sudden urgency to know more, she ventured to ask the question she’d had on the tip of her tongue for quite some time. “What made you decide to adopt Petyr and Varys? Margaery’s never told me anything specific, and Petyr’s not exactly all that forthcoming about his past.”

“It was a matter of life’s little mysteries, I suppose,” Olenna said, her eyes gaining the look one gets when lost in the recesses of memory. “I’d never thought on adopting before the day I met Varys. I was a young mother at the time, and Mace was still in diapers. Luthor and I had married when I wasn’t yet twenty, fools in love and in a terrible rush to spend our lives together. Soon after, I was pregnant, but even happily married and with a kid on the way, I never gave up my first love, that of playing piano. Until I gave birth, I performed regularly, and after, I began to teach private lessons at home.

“Then, one Christmas, my students and I performed a charity concert for a nearby orphanage, playing carols to brighten the lives of those less fortunate. One by one, each of my students played their songs, garnering polite applause, and then it was my turn. I played ‘Do You Hear What I Hear,’ commonly sung by Bing Crosby, and all was quiet at first but for a few sniffles and the sounds of some of the younger children fidgeting in their chairs. And then, so soft I could barely hear it, a boy began to sing along, his voice clear and bright, and so, so hopeful.”

Sansa could see the picture Olenna had painted in her mind’s eye, of the little boy she was sure must be Varys, singing along as his future mother played a Christmas carol. The image was so sweet that her eyes misted.

“The boy sang along until the song was finished, then quieted once more,” Olenna continued. “I stood and ushered my students to join me on stage, where we all took a bow, but the applause was stinted, nearly all eyes in the audience fixated on that little boy, who stared straight ahead, ignoring them as if he’d done nothing out of the ordinary. Curious, and intrigued by the boy’s beautiful voice, I sought out the man who ran the orphanage afterwards, while my students and the other children indulged in the punch and cookies we’d brought along.

“The man couldn’t seem to keep his eyes off of the boy, who’d taken one cookie and a glass of punch before retreating into a corner to eat alone. When I inquired about the boy, his eyes lit up. ‘It’s just the damndest thing,’ he said. ‘The boy hasn’t spoken a word since he’d come to us, over two years ago.’ I remember frowning and turning to look at the boy, now painstakingly picking cookie crumbs off of his clothes. ‘But he must be at least three,’ I said. And the man nodded and informed me that the boy, Varys, was in fact four. But, despite having no physiological problems that prevented speech, he’d never uttered a word, or even a sound. Not until that night.”

“Never?” Sansa asked, shocked. Not a sigh or a scream, a sob or a grunt? It didn’t seem possible, especially for a child so young.

“Never,” Olenna confirmed. “I was shocked myself. Varys had come to the orphanage when he was but two years old, surrendered by his parents, who were too consumed with their own troubles to care for a child. They’d since disappeared without a trace, though the orphanage had tried in vain to contact them, wanting to know whether Varys had always been so quiet or if it was a new development. He was a good boy, but he kept to himself, never playing with the other kids or interacting with anyone if he could help it, only shaking his head yes or no to communicate. This peculiarity had so far made prospective parents pass over him, though the younger orphans usually have a far better chance at adoption.”

Sansa’s heart broke for the boy Varys had been. Obviously he’d since overcome the psychological barrier that had kept him mute, but still. To be so young and contain so much hurt within you. She couldn’t imagine it.

“After hearing more about Varys, about what a miracle it had been for him to sing that night, I couldn’t simply just walk away. I had to talk to him. So I went over to where he still stood, all alone in a corner, clutching a nearly empty cup in his pudgy fist, and I told him that he had sung beautifully, that I couldn’t have hoped for a better accompaniment. And he raised his gaze to meet mine and smiled, and I knew I couldn’t leave without him. I was but twenty-two, still practically a newlywed, with my own infant to care for, but this little boy needed me, had reached out to me, and so I made the choice, and made him my son.” As Olenna finished her story, she had a smile upon her lips that Sansa thought might just mirror Varys’ from that moment long ago.

“You are truly wonderful, you know that,” Sansa told her, careful not to inflect her voice at the end, leaving no room for what she said to be a question. For there was no question about it. This woman was extraordinarily wonderful.

Olenna laughed. “You say that now, but come tomorrow when we’re at my exercises, you’ll say differently.”

“Never,” Sansa promised. “Even when you’re griping at me, you’re still wonderful.”

“Such flattery. I fear I don’t deserve it, sometimes. Often I wonder, if only I had been a better mother, my children might not still suffer so much,” Olenna said regretfully.

“You mean Petyr,” Sansa guessed.

Olenna sighed. “Yes. Now, I know his problems have little to do with me, but I still wish I could have done more for him.”

“I’d say he’s surprisingly well adjusted, all things considering,” Sansa said. “I mean, I hadn’t known before tonight about how he’d lost his parents. And of course, that business with my mother, my aunt, and my father was certainly difficult to pull through.”

“And yet you haven’t had the privilege of knowing him before he met you,” Olenna said sadly. “He was happy with us, and made so much progress overall, until your mother got engaged and it all fell apart. Afterwards he was never quite the same. But you’ve brought him back, Sansa. I’ve truly never seen him happier. Not even when he was a child, and there were some golden moments back then.”

Sansa felt her heart swell. “I don’t think I’ve ever been happier either,” she confessed.

“Good.” Olenna patted her hand, smile motherly.

There was a brief silence, and then Sansa spoke. “How did he come to you?” Though she was tired, she was still desperate to know, and she knew she’d never sleep until she had answers.

“It is a shorter tale than Varys’, but still one I treasure. His mother and I were friends, you see. We’d gone to school together and bonded over music. Alayne played the violin, and we performed together often, with me as her accompanist. Luthor and I were at her wedding, where I played piano for the ceremony. When she had Petyr, I was there the following day, and Mace and Varys met their future brother then, and many times over, though none of us knew that that was their fate at the time. Alayne was so happy, and Petyr was her everything. She wanted so badly to give him a brother or sister but, after over four years of tears and two miscarriages, she decided to get some tests done, to figure out what was wrong.

“The results rocked their little family with grief. She had ovarian cancer, and it had metastasized beyond her ovaries to some of her vital organs. The doctor’s gave her six months to live at best, but she fought, desperate not to leave her husband or Petyr, spending the next year in and out of the hospital before she finally succumbed. Wracked with grief, Petyr’s father turned to alcohol, and for the next two years he barely held it together to care for his son, landing himself in the hospital on multiple occasions before the drink finally took him too. I watched it all fall to pieces, and during those two years Petyr was a frequent houseguest. He became part of the family, and his mother had always been so dear to me, and when he was orphaned, I couldn’t let him go to anyone else.”

Olenna sighed. “Afterwards, Luthor and I decided we all needed a change of scenery, a fresh start. We uprooted our family and moved to Long Island, and had so many good years before tragedy struck again, and then again. But, through it all, we’ve been a family. Petyr and Varys were my children as much as Mace, and they mourned his loss, and Luthor and Alerie’s, equally. And when I was again faced with two more children without parents, I adopted Margaery and Loras, becoming both their grandmother and their mother. Petyr and Varys chipped in whenever they could, but I raised Margaery and Loras from middle school onward. And when the time came for them to go to college, I followed them to the city, where my boys have remained in order to keep our fractured family as whole as they can.”

Wiping away a tear that had spilled over, Sansa leaned in and hugged the older woman. “You’re the strongest woman I know, and you’ve raised the most wonderful, loving family. And I am so blessed to feel like I am a part of it.”

Olenna squeezed her back. “You are a part of it, chickadee. And I know that boy of mine will make it official some day.” She pulled away and smiled. “Get some sleep now. You’ll need your strength to handle him tomorrow.”

Sansa smiled at Olenna, grateful for the older woman’s comfort and assistance today, even as her mind whirred at the subtle hint of marriage. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.” Olenna patted her cheek once more then stood and toddled off in search of her own room.

Sansa watched her go for a moment, then sighed and got up, heading back to her room. She opened her door as quietly as she could and slipped back inside. However, she needn’t have worried, as it quickly became apparent that Petyr was awake, his half lidded eyes following her progress through the room.

“I hope I didn’t wake you,” Sansa said apologetically, reaching for her pajamas so she could get changed for bed.

Petyr shook his head. “No, I don’t think so,” he replied, voice even raspier than normal due to the coughs that had wracked his body more often than not as the evening progressed.

“How are you feeling? Any better?”

“Not really.”

He sounded as if he was drifting back to sleep, so she decided not to prod further, instead ducking into the bathroom to brush her teeth and fix her hair for bed. When she came back out, his eyes were closed, and for a moment she debated about grabbing some blankets and making up the couch in the living room, so she wouldn’t disturb his rest.

But then he shifted under the blankets and mumbled something about how if she didn’t get moving he’d get up and throw her into bed (which she highly doubted he was capable of at the moment) and she scurried over, slipping into his arms. Though she wanted to, she refrained from kissing him goodnight, not wanting to chance getting what she was pretty certain was pneumonia, judging from his rapid heartbeat, which was even faster than she’d known it to be after certain rigorous activities. Of course, she’d kissed him just that morning, so she might already be sick, but she was holding out hope that she wasn’t.

It wasn’t so much that she feared getting sick, though that too played a part, but rather that she wanted to be able to take care of him, and she couldn’t exactly do that if she was sick too. What Olenna had revealed earlier about Petyr had simply broken Sansa’s heart. About how he’d lost his parents and about his adoption, but also particularly about what Olenna had said about the effect everything had had on Petyr. Because she knew that Olenna had been right in her assumptions. He was terrified of losing anyone else, and terrified of finding out that he really was as alone as she knew he’d often felt over the years. What had happened with Sansa’s parents and Lysa years ago had only exacerbated the matter.

As much confidence as Petyr always exuded, Sansa knew, deep down, it was all an act. She wondered if maybe, even after countless exchanges of ‘I love you’s,’ he still occasionally questioned whether she really loved him. Not because he didn’t trust her, but because he doubted that anyone could possibly love him in return.

She wanted to do something that would forever assure him of the depth of her feelings for him. Barring marrying him, which, while she wanted to at some point, would have to wait until he actually asked her (which Olenna seemed confident would happen, a thought which made her heart sing the tune that had woven her and Petyr together), she could only think of one way to show him how much she cared. With him as sick as he currently was, she could think of no better opportunity. She would care for him, taking care of whatever he needed, staying by his side through it all, and, if necessary, forcing him to do things he’d rather avoid, like going to the doctor, and taking time off of work in order to get better.

And hopefully, by the time he was well again, he’d be healed in more ways than one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked the little glimpses into Petyr's past (and Varys' and Olenna's). The next chapter reveals Petyr's official diagnosis :).


	39. Chapter 39

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Petyr goes to the doctor.

When Petyr woke the following morning, he suddenly realized that what he’d thought to be death yesterday had been merely a precursor. Sansa’s horrible mattress had left him aching worse than ever, his back screaming in complaint. And he was jerked out of slumber with a hacking cough that lasted several minutes, during which he expelled an obscene amount of phlegm into a handkerchief and startled Sansa awake. In the process of trying to disentangle herself from the blankets so she could get him a glass of water, she promptly fell out of bed, nearly pulling him to the floor with her.

Miserable and wracked with guilt, he kept trying to apologize, only for his persistent cough to make any speech he attempted completely unintelligible. In the end, she assured him it was ok and skipped out into the kitchen, returning a few minutes later with a glass of water, cold medicine, and the thermometer.

While she’d been gone, Petyr had taken one look at his handkerchief and given it up as a lost cause, tossing it into the trash can near her bed. Then he’d searched in vain for his phone, his pants’ pockets apparently having been emptied by Sansa last night while he’d been completely out of it. He spied his wallet on her bedside table, along with the altoids he habitually carried around, but his phone was conspicuously absent.

Before he could ask her where it was, she pressed the glass of water into his hand, insisting that he drink and swallow the pills she’d brought for him. Since his mouth tasted horrible from his coughing fit earlier, he reluctantly complied, then waved away the thermometer as she held it out to him.

“I’m fine,” he croaked, his own voice betraying him, despite the fact that he’d always been on good terms with it before.

Sansa put her hands on her hips, still clutching the thermometer. “You are not,” she insisted. “In fact you look even worse than you did yesterday.”

Petyr coughed and made a show of rolling his eyes as he struggled to push aside the blankets. “Thank you, I love you too.”

As he tried to rise from the bed, he was stopped by her hand on his chest. “You know what I mean,” she said, sounding frustrated. “You’re sick. You need rest, and I need to take your temperature.”

“I’m fine,” Petyr repeated, gently pushing aside her hand and getting to his feet.

Which, in retrospect, probably wasn’t the best idea he’d ever had. Head spinning, chest already tight from fighting to bring in enough oxygen, he stumbled away in a manner that hardly proved his assertion of perfect health.

“Where are you going?” she cried, quickly dodging around him to block the door.

He sighed. “To get my phone. I’m probably already late for work.”

Sansa gave him an exasperated look. “You’re not going to work. I already called in sick for you.”

Petyr scrubbed a hand over his face, trying to clear his head. “You did what?”

“I called Robert and explained that you were sick. He said it was fine, though I don’t think he really believed me,” she replied, eyeing him warily, as if she thought he might collapse at any moment.

Which, really, he probably was this close to doing just that. He felt fatigue like he never had before, and the lack of oxygen reaching his brain was starting to make him see stars, his thoughts hazy and muddled and completely uncooperative. As she stared defiantly back at him, his knees began to give out and he grabbed onto the back of the chair by her vanity table in hopes of remaining upright.

Normally he might have commented on what Robert had likely assumed from Sansa’s phone call, but he could hardly think straight (or stand straight) let alone make any attempt at upholding his normally witty repertoire. Instead he settled for a weak reprimand, even though he knew she’d only done it out of concern.

“You shouldn’t have done that without talking to me first,” he protested.

Sansa groaned. “I know it was overstepping, but you didn’t leave me much choice. I knew you’d insist on going in and dammit I can’t let you do that. You’re sick Petyr. Accept it and get some rest.”

Petyr shook his head, not willing to give in, but before he could begin his argument, she interrupted him. “No,” she snapped. “This is not up for discussion. You’re not going to work, and you’re going to let me take your temperature, and if it’s any worse than it was last night, you’re going to the goddamn doctor. End of discussion.” As she spoke, her voice rose, and she crossed her arms, eyes flashing.

He took a step back, surprised, and accidentally let go of the chair. Without its support, he quickly crumpled to the floor. Sansa broke her vigil by the door, rushing forward to his side as he sat with his head in his hands.

“Oh gods, are you ok?” she asked frantically, throwing her arms around him.

Petyr chuckled weakly, the sound more bitter than anything. “Apparently not.”

The door opened and they both looked up to see Olenna staring down at them, expression stern. “You’ll do as Sansa says or you’ll have me to contend with,” she threatened, before her expression softened. “Come now, up off the floor with you. You’ll be alright, so long as you give your body time to recuperate.”

Petyr didn’t reply, too weary to formulate a response, instead accepting Sansa’s help as he got back to his feet and returned to sit on the edge of the bed. She sat next to him and held up the thermometer expectantly. Far too tired to argue any more, and still struggling to catch his breath from the short trip back to the bed, he just closed his eyes and opened his mouth. A second later he felt the tip of the thermometer slid underneath his tongue and then she nudged his chin, prompting him to close his mouth.

There was a beep, signaling that it was done, and Sansa pulled the thermometer out of his mouth. Petyr kept his eyes closed, his head drooping as he sagged against her, too weak to even hold himself upright while sitting.

“This is way too high,” she said grimly.

“I’ll call his doctor,” Olenna said. “If I can’t get an appointment within the hour we’ll take him to the emergency room. Varys is still home. He can help us get him down to the car.”

The door shut again with a soft snap and Petyr felt Sansa wrap her arms around him, pulling him close. He didn’t bother to argue again that he didn’t need to see a doctor. It wouldn’t have made any difference, not with Olenna and Sansa insistent on his going, and him being too weak to put up a proper defense against them. And anyway, perhaps they were right.

He did feel even closer to death in this moment than he had when he’d gotten his scar, years ago. And as that had been nearly fatal, perhaps he shouldn’t take his chances.

After all, life had just taken a startlingly good turn for him. It would be just his luck to find love and then promptly kick the bucket soon after.

Petyr didn’t know how long they sat like that, but eventually Olenna returned, summoning Sansa to the door for a quiet conversation. Without Sansa to lean on, he slumped sideways on the bed, half out of it, not even bothering to try and listen to what they were saying.

And then Sansa was back and he heard her bustling around in her room, getting dressed. He suspected he knew what was coming next, but didn’t move, not even when his suspicions were proven correct and he felt her putting on his shoes. When she was done, she helped him sit upright, and, at his assertion that he was cold, retrieved his suit jacket and helped him put it on before running a brush through his hair.

She’d just tucked his wallet into her purse (along with his phone, which she refused to let him have “I know you, you’ll try and sneak in some work”) when the door opened again, revealing both Varys and Olenna.

“Dear me, you do look quite a bit worse for wear, don’t you,” Varys commented, gliding into the room as if he owned it (which he did, but well, whatever. Petyr was too sick at the moment to properly complete that thought).

Petyr gazed up at his brother and forced his mouth to twist in a smirk. “Still look better than you,” he said, then turned and coughed, ruining the effect.

“A matter of opinion, I assure you,” Varys said, holding out his arm. “Now come on, we haven’t got all day.”

“Ah yes, gossip never rests, and the world would simply crumble without your show,” Petyr mumbled, getting to his feet with the help of both Varys and Sansa.

“Shush now,” Sansa scolded them. “This is hardly the time to trade barbs.”

“It seems to me that that was a compliment, but I get your point. He needs to save his breath,” Varys replied, looping Petyr’s arm about his shoulder and bearing the brunt of his weight as they left Sansa’s room and headed for the front door.

With Varys’ assistance, Petyr made it to the elevator and down to the carport without passing out from the strain, but just barely. When he was finally tucked into the backseat he leaned heavily against the door, cheek pressed against the window, until Sansa joined him and he slumped against her instead.

They arrived at the hospital with little incident, where they took him to the emergency room, having been unable to get him an appointment soon enough. The wait was minimal, and before he knew it, Petyr was sitting on an exam table (luckily still dressed, at least for the moment. He hated those stupid gowns) with both Sansa and Olenna in the room with him. Varys had decided to wait in the lobby, for which Petyr was grateful. Even sick, he felt obligated to bicker with Varys, and he really was far too exhausted to keep up the pretense at the moment.

When the doctor finally blessed them with his presence, Sansa shot to her feet, face brightening. “Dr. Luwin!”

“Sansa?” The older man’s eyes crinkled, and he immediately enveloped Sansa in a hug. “Dear girl, how are you?”

Sansa beamed back at him. “I’m good!” Then her face fell, and she turned to glance at Petyr. “Petyr not so much.”

Dr. Luwin peered at Petyr over the rims of his glasses and clicked his tongue. “I can see that.”

He began to examine Petyr, slipping on his stethoscope and listening to his heart and lungs.

“How are your parents?” Dr. Luwin asked Sansa conversationally, prompting Petyr to take in deep breaths and let them out slowly.

“They’re good. I was just with them, in fact. Petyr too. For our annual vacation at the lake,” Sansa explained. She paused. “They didn’t tell me you’d left the practice.”

“Back in January.” Dr. Luwin shrugged. “Thought I needed a change, after all these years.” He began checking Petyr’s neck for swollen glands.

“Dr. Luwin’s been the Stark family doctor since before I was born,” Sansa told Olenna.

The doctor nodded. “I’ve seen Sansa and her siblings through it all, from illness and broken bones to the rare hospital stay.” His focus shifted to Petyr. “Now, the nurse informed me that you were extremely fatigued and short of breath, with coughing, dizzy spells, and a fever?”

Petyr nodded, and the doctor continued. “Well, your fever is dangerously high, from what the nurse recorded, as is your heart rate. And your lungs are full of fluid. We’ll do some bloodwork, a urinalysis, and a chest x-ray to be sure, but I’m fairly confident in my diagnosis of pneumonia, likely bacterial.” He paused. “It’s an advanced enough case that I’d like to keep you here, at least overnight, see if we can bring down that fever. We’ll set up an IV, get some fluids in you, and once we’ve confirmed it as pneumonia, we’ll start you on a course of antibiotics. How does that sound?”

Petyr shrugged. “Do I have a choice?”

“No,” Sansa and Olenna said firmly, at the same time.

Dr. Luwin laughed. “Apparently not.” He patted Petyr on the shoulder and leaned in to stage whisper cheerfully “You should be grateful. If only I had two beautiful ladies to take care of me, I’d be a far happier man.”

“Damn straight,” said Olenna, getting to her feet. “He’s going to stay if we have to strap him to that bed.”

Dr. Luwin chuckled again, eyes twinkling. “Oh, I don’t think that will be necessary. He’s weak enough that he’ll barely be able to get out of bed let alone flee the hospital on his own.”

“Alright, no restraints, but if he escapes it’s on your head,” Olenna warned.

“For my sake, then, I hope I’m right. You don’t look like someone I’d want on my bad side,” said Luwin, his tone easily discernible as leaning heavily towards flirtation.

“You don’t,” Sansa assured him.

 

* * *

 

Petyr allowed them to check him in with little resistance, and soon, after a stop to get his chest x-rayed and a trip to the lab where he was sapped of a few vials of blood and donated some urine, he was being wheeled into what, luckily (thanks to his considerable wealth), turned out to be one of the nicer private rooms in the hospital. By the time he’d gotten settled in, Varys, Sansa, and Olenna all hovering around him, the lab results for his bloodwork and urine had come in and he was informed that he had Legionnaire’s Disease, which Luwin explained was basically a severe form of pneumonia that resulted in fatalities in one out of ten cases.

Which was really just his luck.

Everyone had paled upon hearing the news, Sansa’s grip on Petyr’s hand tightening.

Dr. Luwin smiled sympathetically. “Luckily your family took you in as soon as they did. Since it’s been less than twenty four hours since the onset of your symptoms, your chances for a full recovery have vastly improved. You are still quite young, and before now your health has been exemplary. You shouldn’t have too much cause for concern.”

“But how?” Olenna asked, her knuckles whitening where she gripped her cane. “It came on so quickly. Sansa said that he’d been right as rain only that morning.”

“Legionnaires’ Disease is caused by the bacterium Legionella. It can be found in everything from rivers and lakes, to tap water in contaminated water systems. The bacterium is contracted through aspiration, either through breathing in contaminated vapors or from accidentally sending water down the trachea rather than the esophagus,” Luwin replied. “Symptoms can start as soon as two days after infection.”

Sansa blanched, her nails digging into Petyr’s palm as she turned to him, horrified. “It must have happened when we wiped out on the jet ski. “ She let go of his hand and buried her face in her hands. “It’s all my fault.”

“No,” Petyr protested weakly, and tried to sit up, wanting to pull her into his arms and comfort her.

“It’s nobody’s fault,” Dr. Luwin said firmly. “The chances of contracting Legionnaires from swimming are very low. You couldn’t have known then, and, it might not have even occurred at that specific moment.”

Petyr managed to grab Sansa’s arm, and he pulled her hands away from her face. “It’s not your fault, sweetling,” he croaked insistently, his heart breaking as he noticed the unshed tears brimming in her already reddened eyes.

“Of course it’s not,” said Olenna. “These things happen. Petyr’s strong and he’s stubborn, and if anyone can pull through this, he can.”

Sansa gave a choked laugh and latched onto Petyr’s hand again, squeezing gently.

“We’ll start you on antibiotics and go from there,” Dr. Luwin promised, stepping aside as a nurse came in, armed with supplies. “I’ll check in on you again later.”

The nurse rigged him up with an IV and some antibiotics, and showed him where the call button was, along with the tv remote, then left him alone with his family.

Petyr shifted uncomfortably in the bed, hating his tacky and incredibly unflattering hospital gown and the scratchy sheets, as well as the strange look on Varys’ face, that pinched expression he always got when he was holding back jabs. Margaery and Loras had both been informed and promised to stop by after work. Until then, Sansa and Olenna planned to spend the day with him, while Varys would leave shortly for work.

Luckily, since he was so sick, sick enough to be confined to a hospital bed and forced to stay overnight, at the very least, and could barely talk besides, he didn’t feel any obligation to entertain them. Instead he leaned back against the pillows and closed his eyes, letting their whispered conversation lull him into the space between dozing and sleeping. They were clearly putting up a false show of pretending they weren’t worried, though he could hear the anxiety cracking through their facade.

“I’m surprised he didn’t put up more of a fuss, honestly,” Varys said, scooting his plastic chair around so he could see the tv perched up on the wall.

“You didn’t deal with him first thing this morning,” Sansa replied, feigning a lightness that didn’t quite land as her voice wavered.

“I can hear you, you know,” Petyr mumbled, turning to press his face into his pillow.

“Take it as a sign not to be such a pain next time,” Varys advised, always the best of anyone at concealing his emotions behind barbed wit. Then he yelped. A soft thwack preceding the yelp told Petyr that Olenna wasn’t pleased with the comment, and Petyr couldn’t hold back a chuckle, which was luckily muffled by the pillow he still had his face buried in.

“Well I am glad someone finds amusement in the situation,” Olenna said dryly, having clearly heard him anyway. Petyr swore sometimes that the woman had bionic hearing. “You get some sleep, else you’ll be spending more than just a night here.”

“Well I would be doing just that if certain people would stop talking,” Petyr replied, much of what he’d said fairly intelligible due to the fact that he didn’t bother pull away from the pillow.

Olenna gleaned the general idea anyway. “Keep up the snark and I’ll turn on my soaps,” she threatened.

“And that, my dears, is my cue to leave,” Varys said. He never could stand to be around when Olenna watched her soaps. Which was strange, considering his propensity for drama and gossip, but then, perhaps he didn’t like being outdone by anyone in either. Of course, Petyr suspected Varys was also getting uncomfortable with the level of anxiety permeating the room. He didn’t blame his brother. If he could, he’d leave too.

Petyr just groaned, waving his hand in Varys’ general direction as he said goodbye, promising to return later after work. Eventually, Petyr drifted off, only to come to a few hours later, and find only Sansa sitting by his side, quietly reading a book on her phone. When she noticed he was awake, she immediately set her phone aside and scooted her chair closer, taking his hand in hers.

“How are you feeling? Any better?” she asked.

He closed his eyes again and squeezed her hand. “Maybe a little.”

“That’s good,” she said. “Olenna went to get some lunch. They brought you lunch a couple of hours ago but we didn’t want to wake you.” She paused. “She wanted me to come with her, but I couldn’t. I’ve been so worried.”

Petyr opened his eyes again, blinking her face into focus. He’d been so consumed with how horrible he felt, and with insisting that he didn’t need to take off work or go to the hospital, that he hadn’t considered that Sansa might be genuinely worried that she might lose him. “I’ll be ok, sweetling. I know those odds sound scary, but I’ve survived far worse. I’m not going to let a touch of pneumonia take me. Not now, of all times.” Of course, it was more than a touch of pneumonia, he knew that, but he was still confident that he’d be ok. He wasn’t worried.

Really.

He wasn’t.

“Still. If Olenna and I hadn’t insisted on bringing you here, things could have gotten a lot worse. I don’t want to lose you.” Her voice turned pleading near the end, with a hint of desperation.

Listening to Sansa talk, seeing her face, as she spoke, Petyr was suddenly struck with how much she really cared. On the surface, he hadn’t doubted that she loved him, but, until now, he realized that a part of him hadn’t believed she really did. Rather, deep down, he’d told himself that she only thought she loved him, or perhaps that she loved him in a way that wasn’t meant to be permanent. But he could see it now, the evidence was there, in her voice, and in her eyes.

She really did love him.

“I’ll be fine,” he reassured her. “I promise.” He drew her hand to his lips and kissed it. At least there was one good thing about having Legionnaires’ Disease. He didn’t have to worry about passing it along to anyone. Unless perhaps he coughed directly in their faces. Or was it passed strictly through water and not person to person?

He’d be careful regardless, just in case. Not that he would have coughed in their faces anyway. Except for Joffrey, if he had the chance. Cersei too.

“I’m sorry that you had to come to the hospital,” Sansa told him. “I know you’d have preferred not to.”

“It’s ok. I mean, you’re right, I definitely didn’t want to see a doctor, let alone stay, but I know it’s necessary now.” Petyr paused. “I’m just glad you’re not sick too.”

Sansa smiled. “Me too. Even though you’ve been difficult, I like taking care of you.”

“That’s the physical therapist in you talking.”

“And the girlfriend, too,” she said softly. “It’s nice, having the opportunity to really show how much you care, not just in health, but in sickness too.”

“Those sound like vows,” he commented idly, tugging on her hand and scooting over to make room in the bed. “Come, join me. I miss you.”

“Do they?” she asked, standing and heeding his request, curling up next to him on top of the blankets.

Petyr laid his head back against the pillow, closing his eyes as he pulled her close with one arm. “I love you.”

She tucked her head into the crook of his shoulder, her breath ghosting against his neck. “I love you too. So much. So get better, ok?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So originally he was just going to have pneumonia (since I’ve had it and nearly been hospitalized for it, so I can describe it fairly accurately) but back when I was writing this arc, there was a news story about an outbreak of Legionnaires’ Disease at Disney (world or land, can’t remember, this was back in the summer (I’m really bad about editing and posting things, obvs)) and when I read the article and what it was, I was like this is perfect, especially with the lake vacation and the fact that it’s basically a severe form of pneumonia. So yeah, there’s my little anecdote about my inspiration for deciding what got him sick.
> 
> I tried to be pretty accurate in writing about it, and I did some research, and used what I remember from having pneumonia, and from getting hospitalized several years ago (not because of pneumonia, gall bladder) so hopefully everything's fairly correct. 
> 
> Did anyone guess that it was Legionnaires' Disease? I know I had people guessing on tumblr :).
> 
> Also, I'll bet you didn't expect Maester Luwin to make an appearance ;)


	40. Chapter 40

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa stays by Petyr’s side while he recovers.

Sansa hadn’t realized how tired she was until she woke up, still curled up next to Petyr in his hospital bed. He seemed to be breathing a bit easier, though still not quite normally, his chest rising and falling with far more frequency than usual, due to his shallow intakes. Though he appeared to still be asleep, she could hear whispers that told her that they weren’t alone.

Carefully, she raised her head and extricated herself from his embrace, sitting up to see Olenna, Margaery, and Loras all grinning widely at her. Sansa brightened upon seeing her friends, though part of her groaned inwardly as she slipped off the bed, knowing that she was likely going to be subjected to relentless teasing after being found in Petyr’s bed.

Margaery immediately stood, pulling Sansa into a hug, and Loras reached out and tousled Sansa’s already sleep tousled hair. Olenna stayed seated, having no reason to greet her, whereas the other two hadn’t seen her since before she left for vacation.

“Things seem to be going pretty well with you two, huh?” Margaery said, waggling her eyebrows. “Petyr getting sick aside,” she amended hastily, when Sansa raised her own eyebrows and glanced at Petyr.

Sansa smiled. “Yes, they are.”

“She’s certainly very good for him,” Olenna commented. “Though I’m not entirely sure what _she_ sees in _him_ ,” she added, tone joking. “I know I wouldn’t put up with half the crap he pulls. He’s lucky to have someone who does.”

“I’m lucky to have him too,” Sansa said softly, unable to help glancing back at him.

Loras cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable. “So how’s his progress?”

“A nurse came by about an hour ago, but decided to come back later when she saw he was asleep. I imagine she’ll be back again soon,” Olenna replied. “She said she’d stop before dinner was served at six.”

Sansa frowned. “What time is it now?”

“A little after five,” said Margaery, glancing up from where she was swiping through pictures on her phone.

“Oh, wow. I didn’t realize I’d been asleep so long. It was just after two, the last I remember.” Sansa stretched, working out the kinks in her arms and back, then leaned forward as Margaery held out her phone.

“I couldn’t resist taking a few pictures,” Margaery explained, showing Sansa a picture of her curled up with Petyr in the hospital bed. They were both asleep, and Petyr’s hair was adorably rumpled, and, despite feeling a bit mortified about it, Sansa had to admit that it was a very cute picture of the two of them.

She passed the phone back to Margaery and reached for her own. “Send it to me please, and any others you took.”

“Blackmail?” asked Loras, sounding delighted.

“No.” Sansa laughed. “I liked them. I think Petyr will too, once he wakes up.”

“He’s awake,” Petyr groaned. “And in need of the bathroom, so out, all of you. I’m not parading around for all of you to see in this stupid gown.”

Margaery and Loras immediately did as asked, but Olenna stayed put. “I’m your mother, I’ve seen far worse,” she insisted.

“Even so,” Petyr growled, struggling to sit up and swing his legs over the edge of the bed. “And you too,” he told Sansa.

She shook her head. “Nuh uh. You’re stuck with me. I’m staying, just in case.”

He sighed. “Fine, but only if Olenna leaves.”

Olenna huffed but got up, pinching his cheek on her way out the door. Sansa closed the door behind the older woman, then turned to see Petyr shuffling towards the bathroom, dragging his IV with him. She made to follow him, worried he might fall, but he gave her a look of exasperation.

“You’re not going to watch me take a leak, sweetling.”

“And what if you fall in?” she countered, unable to contain a smile.

“Then you have my permission to flush and bury me at sea,” he replied with a touch of his old smirk, before he shut the door.

By the time he got back into bed, the nurse was waiting outside. She checked his vitals and replaced his IV drip, confirming that while his temperature was indeed a bit better, it was still necessary to keep him overnight, as his fever hadn’t yet broken, and they needed to keep an eye on his lung function and heart rate. Dinner arrived soon after, but Petyr only picked at it, the lung infection robbing him of his appetite.

Margaery and Loras stayed until just after Varys arrived, then left to get their own dinner and go home for the night. The hospital had given Sansa permission to stay the night, as it was a private room (and exceedingly expensive, an exorbitant amount paid out of pocket by Petyr so that he would at least “die in comfort,” as he rather insensitively put it), so, when visiting hours ended, she stayed while Varys and Olenna said goodnight and he drove them both home, promising to come back first thing tomorrow morning.

Sansa curled up in bed next to Petyr again, having refused the offer of a cot, and read while he slept some more, watching tv or talking with him whenever he was awake. When they both finally drifted off, their sleep was fitful at first, but eventually turned more restful, and neither woke up until they heard voices the following morning, the whispers slipping into their dreams to rouse them.

“Ah, it seems our patient and his lovely lady are finally stirring,” said a man, sounding pleased.

Sansa cracked her eyelids open to see Dr. Luwin peering down at her, expression as kind as ever. Olenna was beside him, looking amused, and Varys rolled his eyes from where he stood by the door, arms crossed. Petyr groaned from underneath Sansa and freed his arm from around her shoulders, scrubbing both hands over his face.

Deciding it would be a lot less awkward if she got out of Petyr’s bed, Sansa sat up and hastily slipped out from under the sheets, sliding her feet into her flip flops before she stood. Since she hadn’t had a change of clothes, she was still dressed in what she’d worn yesterday, which at least meant that she wasn’t parading around in front of everyone, braless and in her pajamas. Or naked.

Luwin tutted softly as he examined Petyr’s chart, waiting until Petyr was awake enough before he checked to see if the fever had gone down. Once Petyr was sitting up, Luwin checked his heart and his lungs, listening closely before he retrieved the thermometer and brightened at the results.

“Very good! I must say, you’ve made a remarkable turnaround since we admitted you yesterday morning. The rest, and, of course, a round of antibiotics and the proper fluids, have done wonders already. You’ve still got at least a few day’s recovery until you can return to life as normal, but the fever’s gone down considerably, almost back to normal, and your pulse is much closer to what it should be,” Luwin told Petyr, beaming as he spoke. “I see no reason why you cannot be discharged today.”

Luwin paused, then gave Petyr a stern look. “That is, if you adhere to my strict instructions. Elsewise you’ll land yourself right back in the ER. Legionnaires’ Disease is nothing to mess with. You’re to be on bed rest until otherwise specified. No work or strenuous activity. Take your prescribed medicine precisely as directed, and listen to your mother and Sansa and anyone else who has your best interests at heart. I’ll schedule you in for an appointment next Monday, and we’ll make sure your lungs are back in order with a follow up x-ray. Until the okay from me, you’re not to return to work.”

“Fine,” Petyr said wearily. “To all of it, so long as I can go home. When’s the soonest I can get out of here?”

Dr. Luwin checked his watch. “I’ll notify the nurses that you’re to be discharged. Shouldn’t take longer than an hour or two for someone to stop by. Until then, sit tight.” He nodded at each of them in turn, reserving a special smile for Olenna before departing.

Petyr sank back against his pillows and sighed. “Thank the gods.” Then he frowned, peering up at Sansa. “Please tell me I’m not going back to your bed, sweetling. No offense, but I rather prefer my own.”

“Of course not,” Sansa said, laughing. She knew all too well how much Petyr despised her mattress. “We’ve already worked it all out. You’ll be going home, and Olenna and I will stay over to take care of you until you’re better.” They’d decided this yesterday, when Petyr had dozed off soon after being admitted.

“You don’t need to do that,” Petyr protested.

“The hell they don’t,” Varys interjected. “I’ll have the place to myself again, and I’m quite looking forward to it. You’re welcome to them for a few days, and you need them far more than I at the moment.”

“So I take it you won’t be visiting your poor, bedridden brother?” Petyr asked dryly.

Varys shrugged. “Perhaps I’ll drop in on you occasionally. If the mood strikes me. We’ll see.”

Olenna poked him with her cane. “None of us are buying that apathetic attitude, so can it.”

Varys rolled his eyes, but refrained from commenting further, else everyone knew he’d earn a proper whack.

Fortunately, the nurse with the discharge papers came far sooner than Dr. Luwin had predicted, and Sansa had to hold back a smile as Petyr visibly brightened at the prospect of leaving. When they’d finished administrative matters, they removed Petyr’s IV and pressed a few paper scripts for his antibiotics and an inhaler into Sansa’s hand, along with a weird contraption (kind of like a breathalyzer) meant to help him regain the full use of his lungs that he was supposed to practice breathing into. Olenna and Varys left to bring the car around to the front entrance, and Sansa stayed behind to help Petyr redress in his clothes from yesterday while they waited for another nurse to come back with a wheelchair.

Petyr complained at first about having to get dressed in his now wrinkled suit, and then about having to be wheeled out of the hospital like an invalid, but quieted when he grew breathless from just putting on his clothes. Sansa was just helping him with his shoes when Dr. Luwin returned, and she couldn’t help but notice the Doctor’s face fall when he noticed they were alone.

“All set already, huh?” Luwin asked cheerfully, peering around the room in a not entirely subtle manner.

“Thankfully,” Petyr groaned, trying to stand then sitting back down as Sansa gently stopped him with a hand to his chest.

Sansa nodded. “Olenna and Varys went to bring the car around,” she explained.

“Oh good,” Dr. Luwin said, though his tone betrayed his words. Then he brightened again. “It was lovely to see you again, my dear. Do give my regards to your family.”

“I will,” Sansa promised. “They’ll be happy to know you’re doing well.”

“Yes, quite,” Luwin assured her, then turned to Petyr. “Follow my instructions to the letter and get better, or your mother will have my head.”

Petyr gave a slightly wheezy chuckle. “I don’t think I’ll have a choice in the matter.”

“Damn right you don’t,” Sansa said. “You’re not scaring me like this again.”

Petyr’s gaze softened and he caught her hand, squeezing gently. “I’m sorry, sweetling.”

“Just get better and all is forgiven,” she told him.

Dr. Luwin smiled. “It’s good to see you happy, Sansa. The two of you take care, and I will see you Monday for your checkup.”

The doctor left again, but was soon replaced by a nurse with the promised wheelchair. Though Petyr clearly needed it, Sansa could see how much he disliked being wheeled through the hospital. It wasn’t to be helped though. Even if he hadn’t required it, it was hospital policy.

Varys’ car was waiting for them at the entrance and Sansa put everything she’d brought back from the hospital room into the trunk while Varys helped Petyr into the car. They drove straight to Petyr’s apartment, where Varys assisted Sansa and Olenna in getting Petyr up to his apartment and into his room, before leaving with Olenna to pick up Petyr’s prescriptions and help her pack up some things for her brief stay. Once they came back, Sansa would return with Varys to pack her own bag while Olenna looked after Petyr.

While they were gone, Sansa helped Petyr get settled as best as she could. He’d insisted on getting cleaned up, but could hardly stand in the shower, so he took a bath instead while she hovered nearby, anxious that he might suddenly pass out from lack of breath and drown. She knew she was being silly, but she really couldn’t help it.

For his part, he didn’t seem to mind, especially when she helped him wash up. She hadn’t wanted to let him bathe at all, but she eventually relented, knowing that the steam would only help decongest him. When he was satisfied, she helped him out of the tub and into clean boxers and an undershirt, then insisted he get into bed straight away.

To placate him while she saw about fixing him some breakfast, she handed him the remote to the TV in his bedroom and promised that if he wasn’t a complete pill she’d let him use his phone, though she insisted that he not use it for work. It was funny, ordering him about this way, and she could tell he took amusement from it, but since he insisted on undermining her efforts to help him get better at every turn, it was necessary.

Sansa fixed Petyr some toast for breakfast, but when she brought it to him she found he was fast asleep, obviously exhausted from the stress of leaving the hospital and the bath he’d insisted on taking. Smiling, she turned off the tv and shut off the lights before returning to the kitchen to pack away the toast for later.

As frustrating as he could be when sick (and in general sometimes), she really did love him, so very much. She’d been so terrified that she might lose him, and really, she still was, though she felt much better now that he’d recovered enough to be discharged. She didn’t know what she would do without him. The thought of losing him hadn’t even crossed her mind before, and she knew that she’d never relax until he had received Dr. Luwin’s seal of approval to return to work. Until then she’d be constantly worrying about a possible relapse, though she’d do her best to remain positive. Worrying never did any good, she knew that, but she still seemed to do it regardless.

Sansa also still felt incredibly guilty that the whole reason he’d gotten sick was because he’d come with her to the lake this year. Not to mention, he’d probably aspirated the bacterium when they’d wiped out on the jet ski, which had been _her_ fault. Not that Petyr blamed her for either the wipeout or getting sick, but still. She felt pretty miserable every time she remembered it, though she did her best to hide it. At least she’d feel better once he was officially well again and back to work, out of the danger zone.

And, she was grateful that, if anything, Petyr’s bout with Legionnaires’ Disease had shown him just how much she cared, had helped assure him of her love. If sickness was good for anything it was its propensity to strengthen relationships, offering proof of the depth of one’s affection. Though Petyr put up a good front, Sansa knew he’d needed such proof to break through years of self doubt. This illness had been a blessing in disguise, bringing them closer together than ever, and while he was still recovering physically, she was sure that at least his heart had finally healed from its decades old wound. And that was worth any guilt or terror she might have felt, knowing that he was whole again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I know it’s not exactly realistic to have her stay overnight, and in his hospital bed no less, but idc I’m doing it :P. Also, perhaps most people need to stay in the hospital for longer with Legionnaires but we’ll just say Petyr lucked out if that’s the case lol.


	41. Chapter 41

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Petyr has a talk with Olenna and makes a slow and steady recovery. A passage of time, with Halloween quickly approaching.

When Petyr woke up the room was dark, his apartment eerily quiet. Startled at the lack of noise that should have signaled Sansa’s presence, at the very least, he called out, voice a hoarse croak.

The door to his bedroom opened, admitting not Sansa, as he had expected, but his mother. Olenna flicked on the light and bustled to his side, movements slightly hampered by her hip and the cane she still wasn’t quite used to.

“And how is my little mockingbird?” she asked, gaze sweeping over him appraisingly as she pressed a hand to his forehead, checking to make sure his fever hadn’t spiked again.

Petyr chuckled at the use of the nickname she’d given him as a child, then quickly covered his mouth as it turned into a cough.

Olenna tutted and patted him on the cheek. “I’ll get you some water,” she promised, then tottered out of the room.

When she returned with a glass of water, a sprig of mint floating among the ice cubes, he drank gratefully, before asking after Sansa.

“She’s fine. Varys took her back so she could pack up a few things, and she mentioned that she might stop by the store to get a few groceries afterwards. She shouldn’t be gone too much longer, I imagine.”

Petyr sighed and slumped back against the pillows, the effort of sitting up far more strenuous than he was used to. He cursed the fact that the vacation had clearly compromised his immune system, and that he’d not only gotten sick but had landed himself in the hospital. He hated feeling so useless, so helpless.

Though he had to admit, it was nice having Sansa take care of him. If he hadn’t already known she loved him (sure he’d had doubts about the strength of her love, deep down, his insecurity getting the better of him, but he’d always known she cared), he was certainly convinced of it now. Every action she took seemed to prove it further. And it was nice too, being reminded of how much Olenna, Varys, Loras, and Margaery cared. Though it might have often felt like it over the years, he wasn’t alone.

Being sick had its perks, sometimes.

Olenna smiled at him and sat on the edge of his bed, taking his hand in hers. “You’ve given us all quite a scare, you know. I realize that the odds weren’t that high that we’d lose you, but it’s still been difficult nonetheless. And a one in ten fatality is far worse than I ever want to see for my children.” She paused. “After losing Luthor, Mace, and Alerie, I feel it’s only natural to err on the side of caution.”

Petyr swallowed, his throat suddenly dry though he’d only sated his thirst moments ago. It wasn’t often that Olenna opened up like this. She must truly have been worried. He hated to have given her such cause for it. “Never fear. I promise I’ll cooperate from now on,” he replied, trying to lighten the mood.

Olenna raised her eyebrows. “You don’t have a choice, my boy. I’ll tie you to the bed if I have to.”

If only it had been Sansa to say that, he’d surely have cracked some joke about a bondage kink, but as it had been his mother, he kept quiet. It certainly gave him some ideas for later though.

“We never did get a chance to talk about your vacation,” Olenna continued. “I should like to know how it went, seeing Cat again. And Ned.”

Petyr shifted uncomfortably under the covers. “Do we have to talk about this now?”

“Why not? Now is as good a time as any. You’re free as a bird until you’re better. And you cannot run away from me or my questions, which is an added perk.”

Petyr sighed and shrugged. “It was fine, I suppose.” He paused. “Hasn’t Sansa told you anything?”

“No. Our conversations over the last two days have chiefly concerned you,” said Olenna, tweaking his cheek affectionately. “Come now, was it truly that bad?” she asked, voice softening.

“No, actually it was fairly pleasant, for the most part.” Olenna gave him a skeptical look and he continued. “I swear it. Mostly it was just awkward, until Cat posed the question I knew she’d ask eventually.”

“Which was?”

“If I was with Sansa solely to fulfill what might have been.” Petyr blew out a breath of air then coughed again. “I told her ‘of course not,’ though it was said more than a little heatedly. Sansa heard the whole thing.” He paused. “Afterwards things were easier, though Ned still felt obligated to give me the old ‘if you hurt her I’ll kill you spiel.’ Though it was surprisingly innovative, considering I’d always rather thought he lacked in imagination. At least, it wasn’t simply a rehash of the usual anyway.”

Olenna regarded him thoughtfully. “And was it worth going, in the end? To reopen old wounds?”

“Oh yes,” Petyr replied without hesitation. “Sansa is worth it. A thousand times over. I could spend every moment surrounded by Starks who act far more virulent towards me and she’d still be worth it.”

“Good.” Olenna smiled and patted his cheek before getting to her feet again. “Glad to hear it. It’s all I’ve ever wanted. For you to be happy. And I know she loves you too.”

“And how do you know our relationship has progressed that far?” Petyr wondered aloud. They hadn’t said as much around Olenna or Varys, that he knew of anyway.

“Don’t be daft,” Olenna chided him.

She’d nearly reached the door when Petyr called out to her. “Mom?”

“Yes?” Olenna paused, her hand on the doorknob.

“Are you busy?”

Olenna turned around. “No, why?”

He smiled. “You could stay, if you want. I could use the company.” He paused. “Thanks for looking after me. I know have exactly been easy to deal with these past two days.”

“Since when are you ever?” Olenna quipped.

Petyr laughed. “You might have a point there. I’m grateful, at any rate.”

“You’re my son, I’m happy to do it,” she assured him, her smile full of warmth. “Anything for my little mockingbird.”

 

* * *

 

The next few days weren’t nearly as bad as Petyr had expected, partly because he loved having Sansa around so much. With her, even having Legionnaires’ Disease and being forbidden from doing anything productive wasn’t half so intolerable. Though he still made a show of complaining occasionally, for appearances sake. He suspected that neither Olenna nor Sansa was buying the act though.

Margaery and Loras dropped in a few times, as did Varys, who stayed for dinner and then some, three nights in a row, despite having gone on at length at how much he enjoyed having his apartment to himself again. Petyr didn’t mind that Varys was over so much; on the contrary he found it rather amusing, and it helped keep him entertained in those moments when he thought that since Legionnaires’ Disease seemed to have no intention of killing him, boredom might be taking the honors instead. Varys’ presence also helped keep Olenna and Sansa from subjecting Petyr to more romantic comedies, of which Sansa seemed to find a never ending supply on Netflix, Hulu, and Amazon Prime. Really there was only so much a guy could take.

When the weekend came, Petyr was finally well enough that he could go more than a few steps without feeling like he’d collapse from the lack of oxygen, which was certainly a good sign. However, this also meant that Sansa and Olenna’s insistence that he not work was harder to deal with, since he wasn’t filling most of his time with sleep anymore and therefore had far more time with which he had nothing to do but relax. And get better, which was his only job, according to Sansa. He’d insisted that that was something that would happen whether he worked or not, but she’d only rolled her eyes and taken away his laptop (she’d found him holed up in the master bathroom with it, sitting in the tub).

After that she’d hidden the laptop the gods knew where and threatened to take his phone away as well. Luckily Olenna hadn’t been around at the time, otherwise Petyr would have gotten off far worse. Sansa was far more tolerant than his mother had ever been with him breaking the rules. Though still quite formidable when she wanted to be. He rather liked that about her, though he certainly didn’t ever want to test things so far that he’d be on her bad side.

At least Robert and Tywin didn’t seem too bothered by his absence (really, since he’d landed himself in the hospital, it wasn’t like they could protest anyway), and Olyvar had assured Petyr that he had things well in hand at The Mockingbird. And Petyr had gotten more work done during vacation than he’d expected, so he wouldn’t be too horribly behind. Not to mention he was still rolling the concept of quitting LASE around in his head, though he hadn’t the slightest clue yet what he would do if he did. And he wasn’t about to quit before he had a solid plan in mind. Two weeks without a proper work schedule had assured him that he wasn’t built for idleness, and he wasn’t about to subject himself to such an interlude again. Once was bad enough.

By Sunday night he was well enough that he was confident that Dr. Luwin would allow him to go back to work Tuesday. It still took far more effort than it should have to do, well just about anything really, but he could walk around the apartment without having to stop for breaks or feeling too winded afterwards, and he was only sleeping at night now, though still for longer than he usually did. Sansa seemed skeptical, but Olenna was in agreement, and when Varys stopped by for dinner, she went home with him when he left, leaving Petyr and Sansa alone for the first time in a week.

Of course, he wasn’t nearly well enough to take full advantage of that, but they did spend awhile kissing before he was forced to stop and take a breather (gods, he hated being sick). At least he’d never been contagious, since Legionnaires’ Disease was spread only through inhaling contaminated water (for which he thanked the lakes of Indiana), so he wasn’t at risk of giving it to Sansa or anyone else. Why he had the misfortune to get it when the risk was so low in lakes in the first place, he wasn’t sure. Perhaps Arya Stark had performed some strange water voodoo with her siblings. He wouldn’t put it past her. That girl just loved to stir up trouble, especially where Sansa was concerned.

They spent the night in bed, just talking, about plans for the future, about the vacation, about the fact that both of them suspected that Olenna and Dr. Luwin had hit it off earlier, about everything and nothing, really, until they finally fell asleep. The following day Petyr felt nearly himself again, breaths coming easier, muscles less taut with fatigue, and, though Sansa didn’t want him to, he drove himself to his appointment (Sansa biting her nails in the passenger seat all the way).

Thankfully Dr. Luwin was most obliging, and, after a chest x-ray revealed much improved lungs, agreed that Petyr could in fact return to work Tuesday, so long as he didn’t overdo it, and continued with his antibiotics and breathing exercises. Sansa didn’t seem pleased about it, but Petyr promised everything would be okay, and she cheered up at the prospect of them going out later in the week, since they sorely needed a night out.

Returning to work was far harder than he would have imagined, both because it was thoroughly exhausting in his current state, and because he missed Sansa dreadfully. She’d stayed at his place a few more days to make sure he was ok, spending the day working with Olenna at Varys’ while he was at LASE, but by Friday she’d moved back into Varys’. Petyr’s apartment felt lonely without her, and he grew irritable the longer he went without seeing her (and he rarely spent more than a day without her company). So much so that he dearly wished he had taken Olenna in instead of Varys, and that Sansa lived with him.

Of course, he could always just ask Sansa to move in with him. She didn’t have to live with Varys to take care of Olenna. And it would eliminate the nights he’d have to spend on that horrible mattress she owned. But it really felt far too soon.

And if it felt far too soon to ask her to live with him, then asking her to marry him was certainly out of the question, however much he wanted to.

He knew she would say yes, now more than ever. But her family was a different story. As much as he didn’t care what the Starks thought, Sansa did, and he didn’t want their engagement spoiled by her family’s less than stellar reaction to it. In time he hoped that they would get used to the idea of Sansa and him together, at least enough so that they wouldn’t riot when he finally did pop the question. It killed him to hold off, but Sansa’s happiness was paramount above his, and he doubted the Starks were receptive enough to let Sansa marry him without a fight yet.

And so he waited, hating himself for the necessity of it all the while.

 

* * *

 

Weeks passed, and, in time, he fully regained his strength. The days fled by in a comfortable monotony that he rather preferred after two weeks of disruption to his normal routines (he didn’t mind disruptions, so long as he could still work. But unfortunately vacation with the Starks and getting sick had kept him irritatingly idle). He had grown closer than ever with Sansa, and he spent far more time at Varys’ than he ever had before, just so he could spend time with her. This brought him closer to his family as well, and soon they were as tightly knit as they had been before he’d gone through hell with the Tullys and put everyone at arm’s length. Margaery and Loras stopped by often as well, at least once a week for dinner or some other activity.

Before he knew it, fall had come, and with it Halloween and his impending birthday. Petyr wasn’t usually much for the holidays, but he actually found himself looking forward to them this year. Even his birthday, though he was loathe to turn another year older. Especially since it reminded him that he was twenty years older than Sansa and that most people (excepting his family, and Sansa herself) looked down on him for it. But she didn’t care, nor did his family, and really that was all that mattered.

Even so, he didn’t really want to do anything to celebrate turning forty-four. Nothing fancy anyway. And he’d told Sansa as much, and his family as well. They’d promised to abide by his wishes, and he was grateful for that.

Still, there was to be a party on the big day, but it wasn’t for him, but for the holiday he shared a date with. Petyr had been born on Halloween of all days, and Sansa had expressed interest in throwing a party before she’d even found out that it was his birthday, and he couldn’t deny her anything, ever, so he said yes. He even said yes to hosting it at his place, and to costumes too, though he rather regretted agreeing to that last part. Dressing up in goofy costumes wasn’t exactly his thing. He only hoped that whatever couples costume she chose for them wouldn’t be a pain to wear for however long the party was to last.

In the weeks leading up to Halloween, the party, and his birthday, Petyr found himself doing quite a few fall related activities. Far apart from planning the Halloween party, Sansa insisted on really getting into the spirit of the season, and so he let her drag him along to the usual required outings. They went apple picking with Olenna and Margaery, then returned to Varys’ to bake an assortment of apple related treats, from pies and cobblers to spiced apple chutney for the pork chops they ate for dinner that evening.

The girls had gone rather overboard in their zeal for apple picking and then baking, so they wound up with far more food than they could possibly eat before it turned. Some of it was frozen, set aside for Thanksgiving and Christmas, and some was given away, to everyone from Tyrion and Shae, to Olyvar, to Varys’ friends at both the radio station and the drag club where he frequented, and to a couple of local orphanages.

The whole of his family went with Sansa and him to a fall festival midway through October as well, where they sampled fall favorites as well as the usual street fare while they browsed the wares of the various booths that had sprung up on the streets. And, when Sansa had expressed disappointment that she wouldn’t get to go to a corn maze this year, Petyr had found the closest one and driven with her, Margaery, Loras and Renly out to it one weekend, where he’d also been subjected to a hay ride.

There had also been face painting and balloon animals, but he’d drawn the line at both for himself. He had however paid for Sansa to get her face done up with spider web framed eyes, and he’d bought her a goofy balloon pumpkin hat as well, which she proudly wore. Margaery had gotten her face painted as well, like a scarecrow, (she had a balloon hat to complete the look) but both Loras and Renly had declined.

Petyr hadn’t really known Renly too well before that outing, nor it seemed had Sansa, but, though Renly was related to Robert and Stannis, both of whom Petyr worked with at LASE (for, in Robert’s case), he wasn’t anything like his brothers, and for that Petyr was grateful. Robert was a blowhard, drunk more often than not, and Stannis was a dreadful bore. In contrast, Renly was an up and coming talent in the fashion industry, a topic which Petyr enjoyed hearing about, and, while he partied quite frequently, he wasn’t continually plastered like his older brother.

All of this fall fun was heavily documented by pictures and videos, which inevitably found their way onto social media. Petyr was on Facebook purely for the networking aspect (that and Twitter), though he found himself on there more often as of late, checking out Sansa’s updates. They were, of course, ‘Facebook official’, and, as everyone in her family was on Facebook, all of them could see it, as well as all of the pictures and videos Sansa posted of the two of them together, along with status updates. Petyr had been a bit dismayed when he found a few pictures of him and Sansa from when he had been in the hospital (he’d been asleep and in a hospital gown, and obviously completely unaware that his picture was being taken), but she seemed to love the pictures, so he didn’t ask her to take them down.

He also enjoyed seeing her family’s reactions to Sansa’s posts, and had fun betting with himself when they’d bite the bullet and friend him. Cat had done so soon after vacation, though Petyr suspected she just wanted to keep a better eye on him. Ned still was holding out, but he couldn’t seem to figure out Facebook in general, so that was no surprise. The Stark patriarch occasionally commented on Sansa’s posts, all in caps, though never on anything featuring Petyr.

Meanwhile, Arya had asked to be his friend even before Cat had, which Petyr found slightly suspicious, but he figured she was just trying to get on his good side so he would float her that couple hundred she’d asked for after they’d gotten back from vacation. Also, he knew she likely wanted to mess with him more, which mainly consisted of her sending random strange videos via Facebook Messenger and leaving weird comments on his wall (which otherwise almost solely consisted of the posts Sansa had tagged him in).

Cat often commented on Sansa’s posts too, even the ones with him in them, though they were mostly generic in those instances (‘Looks like you’re having fun!’ and ‘Miss you!’ and, his personal favorite, ‘You look beautiful, sunshine!’). Petyr appreciated the effort she was making, even if it really wasn’t much of one at all. He’d take what he could get, where the Starks were concerned.

Especially since, in all likelihood, he’d be seeing them again sooner rather than later. They wouldn’t be meeting up with Sansa’s family for Halloween, but there was a definite possibility that he’d see them for either Christmas or Thanksgiving. Possibly both. Sansa hadn’t mentioned plans for either yet, too busy preoccupied with planning for Halloween, but he knew she’d want to see her family for Christmas, at the very least.

And he was fine with that. He’d even go back to Ohio with her for both holidays, if that was what she wanted. Olenna would understand, as would everyone else. They’d celebrate when he returned. Petyr didn’t entirely relish staying with the Starks again, especially not for his first Christmas with Sansa (he didn’t give a flying fuck about Thanksgiving, to be honest. Turkey wasn’t among his favorite main courses and the holiday had suspect origins) but he’d do it for her. And, as long as he was with her, even if Ned demonstrated his famous temper and flew after him with an electric carving knife while the kids pelted him deviled eggs and dinner rolls, Petyr would be happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <333


	42. Chapter 42

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Halloween and Petyr’s birthday.

Sansa felt slightly bad that she was going against Petyr’s wishes to celebrate his birthday, but he’d only said he hadn’t wanted anything fancy, nor a party thrown strictly for his birthday. And, technically, she’d followed both of those rules. The party they were throwing together at his apartment (planned mostly by her) was both a Halloween party and his birthday party (though of course he didn’t know that yet). And it wasn’t going to be _fancy_ , persay. Elaborate yes, and they’d all be dressed up, but not in evening wear, so she still felt she was in the clear.

She really didn’t think he’d mind too much. All guests were secretly informed that it was his birthday, but that gifts weren’t required or anything. And they would be having birthday cake, but no candles, so he didn’t end up feeling self conscious about turning forty-four. Other than that, the party trended more towards celebrating Halloween than anything, since she didn’t want to go too overboard and ruin his birthday.

Of course, she was worried he still might be unhappy about it, but she couldn’t just do nothing, as he’d previously suggested when she’d found out his birthday was coming up. Not when it was the first birthday she’d spend with him. And not when she was determined to make the day better than he’d pictured it to be.

Since the party was on Halloween, which coincided directly with Petyr’s birthday, she’d taken advantage of the fact that he’d already agreed to throw a party on that day (before she’d even known it was his birthday, the sneak) and tweaked her plans to make it a birthday party as well. He’d insisted that they carry on with the party anyway when she’d expressed regret that they wouldn’t be able to do what he wanted on his birthday, so they’d made plans to go to dinner with his family the following day at one of his favorite restaurants. Which Sansa still fully intended on doing. Just now he would have both.

She’d spent forever planning all of the details, from the costumes she and Petyr would wear, to the guest list, food, decorations, and theme. She started with finding the perfect couples’ costume, one that fit their relationship perfectly and didn’t require Petyr to wear anything that he’d only put on to humor her. This was extremely difficult, since he was basically a snob when it came to clothes and usually wouldn’t be caught dead in anything unflattering or of inferior materials. But remembering their first unofficial date gave her the idea for the perfect costumes, ones she was confident she could make herself (she’d always been a bit of an amateur seamstress, had even studied fashion design in college for a time) and she spared no expense in purchasing the fabrics and accessories needed.

Sansa had spent ages and multiple fittings with Petyr to get his costume just right, and even more time on her own costume, but she’d finished both to her satisfaction with plenty of time to spare, and couldn’t wait to show them off at the party. For his part, Petyr seemed pretty happy with what she’d come up with, and even more thrilled that she had no intention of asking him to wear a wig to go with it.

For the theme she’d settled on fantasy, which perfectly complemented their costumes. This meant that she’d spent quite a lot of time gathering decorations and thinking up party food. She took inspiration from The Lord of the Rings, vampires (not Twilight, just vampires in general), Harry Potter, and fairy tales in general. The night before the party, she and Petyr, along with Olenna, Margaery, Loras, Renly, and Varys, prepared a lot of the goodies that would be served, along with several jack o’ lanterns and a Halloween type gingerbread house that Sansa figured worked well as the witch’s home in Hansel and Gretel.

Overall that evening had been a lot of fun, filled with laughter and wit, both subtle and silly in nature. Varys turned out to be pretty good at building gingerbread houses, and Loras excelled at carving pumpkins, though Renly shied away from the pumpkin guts with disgust (they all kept teasing him about that). They toasted the pumpkin seeds they harvested with a spice blend Sansa had found online, then candied them. The candied pumpkin seeds would join a variety of other savory and sweet snacks to graze on tomorrow evening (that is, if she could get everyone to stop sneaking handfuls).

The day of the party she rose early and set straight to work on decorating, having spent the night at Petyr’s so she could do so. Halloween had fallen on a Saturday this year, so Petyr was around to help as well, though he did so less than enthusiastically. Margaery arrived around eleven to help her transform Petyr’s apartment into the perfect setting for a Halloween party, at which point Sansa gave Petyr a reprieve and he disappeared into his home office. The party wasn’t set until that evening, but Sansa still had so much to do, and not nearly enough time with which to do it, which was why she’d started so early. She of course could have used Petyr’s help more, but seeing as it was his birthday and they were preparing for his birthday party (unbeknownst to him), she let him have some time to himself to do what he wanted.

By three in the afternoon, Petyr’s place was completely transformed (at least the rooms where guests would be mingling). Looking at it all, Sansa thought maybe she’d gone a bit overboard, but it looked great and Margaery heartily approved, as did Petyr when he came out and saw it, so she was happy. Guests would be arriving at six, so Margaery left to do what she needed to get ready for the party, and Sansa took a well deserved break and wound up with Petyr in the shower (doing far more than getting clean, if she was being honest). Afterwards, he goodnaturedly helped her put together some more of the food she’d planned, and she knew he enjoyed it. They had always loved cooking together.

Olenna and Varys arrived early, around five, already in costume, to help with anything last minute. Varys had come dressed as Glinda the Good Witch from The Wizard of Oz, complete with an outrageously poofy pink dress that meant he had to be careful not to knock anything over as he passed through the apartment. He looked rather stunning, his wig styled, a crown perched in its curls, and a glittering wand in his hand. As for Olenna, her costume complemented Varys’: she’d gone as the tornado that had brought Dorothy to Oz. Sansa had actually made Olenna’s costume for her (or rather embellished it). It consisted of a grey floor length gown with slanted ruching that created a cyclone like effect in the fabric. Pinned to the older woman’s breast was a tiny house that was meant to be Dorothy’s, along with a few trees and a pig.

Sansa let them and Petyr take over setting out the food while she scurried into the master bathroom to do her hair and makeup, and change into her costume. Petyr joined her with fifteen minutes left before the party was set to start and changed into his own, and Sansa beamed at their reflection as they admired her handiwork in the mirror. They looked fantastic. Other than their hair, she thought they were almost indistinguishable from their film counterparts.

Petyr turned to her, his grey-green eyes still visible through his black mask, smirk firmly in place. “I must say, you make a far more beautiful princess than Robin Wright.”

Sansa turned back to the mirror, eyeing her reflection critically. “You don’t think the hair ruins it?” She’d wanted to get a blonde wig to complete the look, but Petyr hadn’t seemed to think it was necessary.

“Hardly,” he scoffed, trapping a curl between his fingers. “Rather, I think Buttercup looks much better as a redhead.”

“But that’s just it,” Sansa protested. “Buttercup. So named, I’m guessing, for her blonde hair.”

Petyr shrugged. “Or her parents just liked the flower. Come now, I promise you, you look great. Better than great.”

Sansa smiled. “As do you,” she murmured, leaning in for a kiss. “Do you like it?”

“Yes.” He paused. “Save for the mask, which I’m sure is going to get stifling soon. Especially when everyone else arrives.”

She laughed. “I figured that. But wear at long as it’s tolerable? For me?”

He smirked. “As you wish.”

She laughed again. “You’re going to be saying that all night, aren’t you?”

“Possibly,” he admitted. “But I’m sure you don’t mind.”

“No, I don’t.” She grinned at him, then couldn’t help kissing him again, getting rather carried away for a moment before she heard the doorbell and pulled away, breathless. “They’re here!” she squealed.

Petyr chuckled and offered her his arm. “Shall we greet our guests, Princess?”

 

* * *

 

Before long nearly everyone invited had arrived, and Petyr’s apartment was filled with an odd assortment of characters from The Princess Bride, The Wizard of Oz, and The Lord of the Rings. Sansa had invited Tyrion and Shae, since Petyr got along well with Tyrion, and she’d always liked him as well, and since Shae had been a delight at the charity gala Sansa had attended with Petyr months ago. They’d been the first to arrive, save for family, and were dressed as Aragorn and Arwen from The Lord of the Rings. Shae looked gorgeous as the elven princess, and Tyrion looked rather fetching with longer, curly hair.

“Of course Joffrey spotted me when I came to pick up Shae from work, and asked if I was dressed as a hobbit, but then Shae slapped him and he promptly vomited and passed out, so I felt better,” Tyrion told Sansa and Petyr cheerfully.

Dr. Luwin had also been invited, since he and Olenna had been trading phone calls and emails for months now (though Sansa had only just managed to get Olenna to admit to it in September), and Sansa thought it was time for them to actually see each other again. Olenna had pretended to be annoyed at the presumption, but Sansa had seen the spark in the older woman’s eyes when Luwin had accepted the invitation. He’d come dressed as Miracle Max from The Princess Bride, and while Sansa had thought it would have been cute for Olenna to go as Max’s wife, Olenna had refused, claiming she was better suited as the tornado from The Wizard of Oz, because no one could tame her.

Margaery had come dressed as Dorothy Gale, pigtails, blue and white checked dress, sparkling ruby red shoes, and all. Myrcella Baratheon had arrived with her, dressed as the Yellow Brick Road in a cute little yellow romper that had white lined rectangles on it to mimic bricks. Sansa had been taken aback when Margaery had asked if she could invite Myrcella, but she’d acquiesced all the same. Neither of Joffrey’s younger siblings were anything like him, and Sansa had always liked Myrcella. She was bright and kind, taking more after her Uncle Tyrion than after her mother or father.

Apparently Margaery had run into Myrcella one night while out with Loras and Renly (Sansa had been on vacation at the time), and the two had really hit it off. Since then they’d met up quite often, though Sansa hadn’t heard anything about it until a couple of weeks ago. Sansa supposed Margaery was nervous that Sansa would be upset that she was friends with someone from Joffrey’s family, but Sansa didn’t mind, so long as it wasn’t Joffrey. Or Cersei. But of course neither of those instances was all that likely.

As for Loras and Renly, they had come dressed like Inigo Montoya and Prince Humperdinck, respectively, from The Princess Bride. Sansa had to contain her amusement every time she spotted them together at the party. The idea of Inigo and Humperdinck together made her want to giggle. She couldn’t imagine a more unlikely pair.

Though both costumes suited them well. Loras got to wield a sword (he’d actually purchased a real one (though it was blunted) specifically for the occasion, too enamoured with the idea of owning a sword), and Renly’s costume befit an actual prince. He’d designed it himself (and Loras’ as well) and it was simply gorgeous. Sansa rather felt it put the costumes she’d made to shame, but Renly had praised her efforts to the skies, and they’d spent a long time talking about fashion and sewing techniques. By the time she’d torn herself away to answer the door (which must be the last stragglers she’d known to be coming, or perhaps trick or treaters seeking candy), Sansa found herself wishing that she’d actually gone for a career in fashion design, like she’d dreamed of doing ever since she’d been a little girl, before reality had set in during college and she’d eventually chosen a more sensible career path, one encouraged by her parents.

Petyr met her at the door, and together they answered it to find Olyvar Twist (not his real last name, he’d adopted it when he’d become a stripper, and actually changed his real name to reflect it in a fit of semi drunken whimsy), the man who managed The Mockingbird in Petyr’s absence, whom Sansa had met only a few times, but liked very much. Beside Olyvar was a striking redhead whom Sansa didn’t recognize, but assumed must be one of Varys’ coworkers, since he’d said he’d invite a few Petyr was friendly with. Both were dressed as characters from The Little Mermaid, with Olyvar as Sebastian and the redhead as Ariel, purple clamshell bra and all.

“Well don’t you two make quite a pair,” Olyvar said, waggling his eyebrows and clacking his foam lobster claws.

“Ros!” Petyr said, the corner of his mouth twitching. His eyes darted towards Sansa then returned to the redhead. “I wasn’t aware that you were coming tonight.”

Ros smiled coyly. “Varys extended the invite. I initially declined, but when Olyvar heard I’d been invited, he begged me to go.”

Petyr’s mouth twitched again, and Sansa swore it had been about to settle into a frown. She wondered what that was about. “Did he now?” He paused, then (noticing the elevator had opened again, trick or treaters heading their way) quickly stepped back, giving Ros and Olyvar room to enter. “Well, welcome, and Happy Halloween! The party’s centered in the living room, just ahead.”

“Oh, I remember where it is,” Ros called over her shoulder as she and Olyvar shimmied past.

Sansa frowned, turning to Petyr as he finished handing out candy to a ballerina and a pirate and closed the door, setting the bowl of candy on the little end table she’d placed there for that exact purpose. “She remembers where it is?”

Petyr sighed, then reached up and took off his mask, rubbing at his face. “She used to come by a lot, at one point,” he said, sounding more than a little reluctant.

“What? Why?” Sansa was confused. Ros apparently worked with Varys, so that would explain how she knew Petyr, but why would she ever be over at Petyr’s place? Unless….

“Because we were involved,” he replied. “Up until about a year ago.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :)


	43. Chapter 43

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Petyr and Sansa talk about Ros. More party fun and the rest of Petyr’s birthday.

Petyr was definitely not happy at the moment. The look on Sansa’s face when he’d said he’d dated Ros, well, it positively crushed him. She had to have known he’d dated other people, of course, but to be suddenly blindsided like that, and at their first co-hosted party, _and_ on his birthday (which clearly meant more to her than to him), couldn’t have been easy. He wished he had known that Varys had invited Ros, or that Varys had been encouraged to invite his coworkers at all. If he had he could have asked Varys not to invite Ros, or, at the very least, warned Sansa about Ros ahead of time.

He was also pretty angry at Varys, and Olyvar too. They both knew his history with Ros Doyle, and yet neither had thought to say anything to him about the fact that she was coming (well, Varys might not have known, considering Ros had apparently declined at first). He didn’t think Varys had invited her intentionally to ruin his birthday or the party (Varys might have done it, just for shits and giggles, if Petyr was the only one to be affected by it, but Petyr knew Varys wouldn’t do anything intentionally to hurt Sansa. Petyr was still very friendly with Ros, so it wasn’t like he wouldn’t want her around, but an ex of his arriving unannounced was bound to bother Sansa). Nor did he think Olyvar had encouraged Ros to come with any malice. Olyvar probably just wanted someone else to talk to at the party, since it mainly consisted of Petyr’s family and their significant others.

But still, despite their lack of malintent, he was angry that neither of them had thought about the repercussions.

“It wasn’t anything serious,” Petyr added hastily. “I mean, it was kind of one of those no strings attached relationships.”

“Oh?” Sansa quirked an eyebrow at him, waiting for him to continue.

“Mainly sex,” he clarified. “And she came with me to company events. It lasted for about five years, off and on while she dated other men. Neither of us wanted anything more. She was someone I could count on to be my date when it was required, and to relieve a bit of stress. It ended amicably about a year ago, when she decided it was time for her to get serious and find someone to settle down with. Though she still agreed to be my date for work functions if I was in a pinch.”

Sansa bit her lip, contemplating his explanation. “And it was just sex?” she asked, sounding as if she didn’t quite believe him.

“Just sex,” he repeated. “And arm candy.” He paused. “In truth, I honestly haven’t dated anyone seriously before you. Just one string of noncommittal couplings to another. I didn’t really want anything more, for a long time. Not until you.”

Her gaze softened. “Ok,” she said simply.

Petyr raised his eyebrows. “Ok? Just like that?”

She laughed. “What, you wanted something more dramatic?”

“Well, no, but I didn’t expect it to be that easy,” he replied, finding her waist and pulling her close.

She laughed again, then kissed him. “Perhaps it’s not,” she said. “But it’s your birthday and I don’t want to ruin it with petty jealousy.” She grinned. “Time enough for that later.”

He chuckled and said, “As you wish, sweetling,” then kissed her again.

Sansa nuzzled his nose for a moment as he pulled away, a soft smile playing about her lips. “I love you too.”

 

* * *

 

Though Sansa had agreeably decided to talk more about Ros later, Petyr couldn’t help but notice that her gaze strayed to Ros more often than not, and that her eyes narrowed, ever so slightly, whenever Ros addressed him. Because he was a complete dick, he found he actually liked that Sansa was a bit jealous, though of course he didn’t do anything to encourage her jealousy. Besides talking to Ros like he would anyone else. As was polite.

He hadn’t expected to enjoy the party as much as he was, but he was in good company, and the food was excellent, and even his costume wasn’t too bothersome. The cloth mask he wore as Westley (or the Dread Pirate Roberts) was the only trying aspect of the whole outfit, and even that was fairly bearable. And Sansa didn’t seem to mind when he eventually took it off for good, a fortune he suspected he could thank his birthday for.

Everyone seemed happy, if slightly tipsy from the punch Sansa had made (which smoked ominously from the center of the buffet table), and they all got along quite nicely despite the rather odd assortment of guests. Olenna and Luwin had pulled up seats near the buffet table, where they talked and ate, and she occasionally tossed napkins or confetti after other guests, claiming it was in a tornado’s nature to do so. Luwin couldn’t seem to take his eyes off of her, listening to every word as if it was gospel, and laughed goodnaturedly every time confetti strayed his way.

Tyrion, Shae, Ros and Olyvar had created their own little raucous group, three of them current or former employees of The Mockingbird (Ros had worked there while she finished her schooling, then quit to become the producer of Varys’ radio gossip show, The Web), and the fourth a frequent patron, so they all knew each other quite well. All of them had heavily imbibed in Sansa’s punch, and were giggling nonsensically as they traded on the latest gossip.

Meanwhile, Loras and Renly were chatting with Varys, Margaery, and Myrcella, and carefully avoiding Olyvar, with whom things had become awkward as of late. Renly wasn’t too thrilled that Loras and Olyvar had once had a thing, something he hadn’t even known about the night they had all danced together at The Mockingbird that summer (when Joffrey had spoiled their good time, as he had a tendency to do).

Sansa flitted between all of the groups like the good hostess she was, and Petyr followed her, not caring if he looked like a lost puppy, following its owner. It was his birthday after all. If he wanted to shadow her around the party rather than make his own way, then that was his prerogative. It wasn’t like she minded, either.

Not to mention, he could tell she wanted to keep an eye on him, particularly anytime Ros was in the vicinity, and he was only too happy to oblige Sansa’s need to keep him nearby, reinforcing in everyone’s minds that he and Sansa were together and happy (not that anyone but Sansa, and possibly Ros, needed that. And maybe his own ego). Fortunately there weren’t too many moments during the party that required navigation in rather murky waters (which gave him a slight thrill, because, again, he was kind of a dick sometimes), but there were a few.

One in particular was pretty good for his ego, even if he shouldn’t have felt any joy from it (considering he knew all too well how much jealousy hurt). Ros had sidled up while Sansa had been somewhat distracted, talking with Renly excitedly (and rather in depth) about how she’d created her dress for her Buttercup costume. They were at the far end of the buffet table, near the punch bowl, so it wasn’t as if Ros had stopped by purely to stir up trouble, a need to sate her thirst far more likely. Still, Ros had touched Petyr’s arm as she slipped past to ladle some punch into her empty glass, and Petyr had seen Sansa’s eyes instantly flare.

Breaking off mid sentence, Sansa had addressed Ros, tone slightly clipped. Stiff. “Enjoying the party?”

Ros lowered the ladle, her glass now nearly filled to the brim, and glanced up, offering a smile. “Oh yes,” she said, raising her glass and taking a healthy swig. “Spanking good punch by the way. Olyvar’s already well off his rocker. He keeps staring at his lobster claws in wonderment. I think maybe he isn’t quite sure whether his hands are supposed to look like that or if he’s just that drunk.”

Renly and Loras both snorted but Sansa didn’t look amused. “I’m glad you’re having fun,” she said, her words holding none of their usual warmth.

Ros’ smile fell and she took another sip of punch before clearing her throat. “It’s lovely to meet you by the way. Varys has told me so much about you.”

Sansa frowned. “He has?”

“I’m his producer,” Ros explained. “So we work very closely with one another. Whenever we have a slow day in terms of gossip he inevitably turns to lesser knowns to fill the show, and of course your ex fiance is always happy to provide content with his intractable behavior, with you formerly as the long-suffering girlfriend. And then you popped up on the radar again over the summer, when you were featured in the society pages for making a splash at the LASE charity gala.” She paused and shrugged. “Not to mention talk about our day to day lives, as coworkers tend to do. Since you live with Varys, take care of his mother, and are dating his brother, you’re bound to come up in conversation every once in awhile.”

Sansa didn’t seem too thrilled that Ros knew so much about her, while Sansa knew so very little about Ros, so Petyr quickly interjected. “Sansa’s become quite an indispensible fixture in the Tyrell family, that’s for sure. She’s also good friends with both Margaery and Loras. Really, she’s as much a part of the family as the rest of us now. And we’re all certainly happier for it. I know I am.”

He saw Sansa’s gaze soften, and when she reached for his hand it was not merely a show of possession (though that definitely played a part) but also a gesture of affection. She laced her fingers with his, the corners of her mouth lifting as he gently tightened his grip, and then she was pulling him from the room without another word and they spent a few heated minutes kissing in a secluded corner before returning to the party, slightly disheveled.

Later, when he was parted from Sansa in a rare moment alone (she’d excused herself to use the restroom), he found himself with Tyrion, Shae, Ros, and Olyvar, who’d slightly sobered by then, partially due to the raid they’d made on the buffet table earlier. Tyrion was joking about how he’d once whacked off into his sister Cersei’s soup, causing the girls to squeal in horror and Olyvar to dissolve into a fit of uncontrollable giggles. Petyr, who’d already heard the story, chuckled lightly, then turned to see if he could spot Sansa, who’d been absent longer than he’d expected.

“She’s really lovely, you know,” Ros purred into his ear. “Way too good for the likes of you.”

“Don’t I know it,” Petyr said dryly. He took a sip of his drink. “And how about you? Making any headway on the picket fence?”

Ros cocked her head to the side thoughtfully. “Perhaps. It’s still early days though. Too soon to tell.” She paused. “For the record, I am happy you’re happy. And you do seem really happy. Both of you.”

“Thank you,” Petyr said. “We are. I hope you are as well.”

“Well don’t you two sound like exes,” Tyrion drawled. “Gotta love those awkward conversations about how you’ve both moved on.”

Shae elbowed him. “It wasn’t awkward until you said it was.”

“Oh it was.” Tyrion chugged the last of his punch. “Just very subtly so. I imagine it would be much worse if they’d done more than fuck and play pretend at company events.” He got up from his chair, intent on getting more punch, but Shae snatched the glass out of his hand.

“Oh no,” she said. “You’re cut off, mister.”

“I’m thirsty,” he protested.

“Then you can have water,” Shae insisted, doggedly following him back to the buffet table, where they argued for a bit before disappearing into the kitchen.

Olyvar snorted. “Honestly, I think I’m the only single person here. Everyone else’s paired off and happily bickering.”

“Margaery and Myrcella are single,” Petyr pointed out.

Olyvar glanced over at the two girls and raised his eyebrow but didn’t comment. Petyr turned back to Margaery, wondering what exactly Olyvar was insinuating (or rather, if there was any evidence to support it), but quickly forgot his train of thought as Sansa came out of the kitchen, bearing a cake he was sure he hadn’t noticed before. Everyone quieted, turning to stare at Petyr and Sansa alternatively, and Sansa smiled tentatively at him.

“So, I know you didn’t want anything fancy,” she began, “and that we’re celebrating tomorrow with dinner, but I wanted to do something for you anyway. Because I love you and I wanted your birthday to be special. This party is in part for you, and it, along with this cake, is to show you how much I care, and how much everyone else here cares too.” She paused. “We won’t be lighting candles or singing Happy Birthday, because I know you wouldn’t want it, but I’m still going to wish you a Happy Birthday, my heart and soul.”

Sansa tilted the cake to show him the mockingbird frosted there in purple atop a green backdrop and surrounded by a red heart, and though he hadn’t wanted any big fuss today, he appreciated her effort, and he appreciated her, and so he grinned back at her. “It looks gorgeous, my love.”

“It’s mint chocolate,” she told him, setting the cake carefully down in a space that had been freed on the buffet table. “Baked it myself, and frosted it too.”

Petyr grabbed her hand and pulled her into his arms. “You know me too well. Thank you, sweetling.” He kissed her then, then pulled away as a shower of confetti and a few decorative napkins rained down on him.

“Happy Birthday from your dear old mother,” Olenna said, winking cheekily.

“Happy Birthday,” the rest of the guests chorused, with Olyvar adding a spirited “And many moreeee!”

Everyone laughed, and then Sansa cut into the cake, serving him a large slice before anyone else. The cake was phenomenal, though Petyr hadn’t doubted it would be. His sweetling knew her way around the kitchen. A few people produced small gifts they’d brought for him, cufflinks and tie clips, and the like, and he thanked them gratefully, then thanked everyone again before they left.

Olenna and Varys stayed behind to help clean up the perishables, and Margaery promised to stop by tomorrow to help clean up the decorations (including the confetti that Olenna had had far too much fun with). Before Margaery and Loras left, they presented him with a bottle of wine they knew he’d like, and wished him a Happy Birthday again. Varys didn’t give him anything openly, but after he’d left with Olenna, Petyr discovered an expensive bottle of whiskey on his kitchen counter next to a plastic spider stolen from the decorations.

Meanwhile, Olenna had hugged him tightly and patted his cheek fondly before pressing a small box into his hand which contained a pocket watch that had been in the Tyrell family for generations. Apart from the value it had in terms of sentimentality, the watch was a gorgeous work of craftsmanship, and he’d been slightly awed that she’d given it to him. He didn’t know what to say, but Olenna didn’t spare him the chance to say anything, just hugged him again and said goodnight, out the door before he could process the gesture enough to speak.

Sansa saved her gifts for him for when they were alone, wanting privacy, though not because it was required (they’d learned long ago that he preferred her naked rather than in lingerie, though they still purchased it occasionally, on random whims). She’d apparently been busy at her sewing this fall, as she’d knitted him a scarf and had hand embroidered several ties with various patterns, all featuring mockingbirds. In addition, she’d bought him a new coat that she’d seen him admiring a few weeks ago while they were out shopping, and she’d also made him a custom case for his smartphone, which featured The Mockingbird’s logo.

“You’re spoiling me, you know that?” he told her, slipping his phone into its new case and admiring the way she’d designed the logo to include his initials.

“You’re worth it,” Sansa assured him, shifting on the couch until she was perched in his lap, and looping her arms around his neck.

They were still dressed as pirate Westley and Princess Buttercup, though she was wearing his black mask instead of him, which was oddly alluring. Her dress bloomed around his legs as she shifted again, straddling him, and even through the tight black pants of his costume he could feel the heat between her thighs. Petyr held her gaze as his hands crept beneath the hem of her skirt, finding only bare skin beneath them as they rose higher and higher.

“I think her Highness has neglected to wear her undergarments,” he said, one eyebrow raising to match the tilt of his mouth.

Sansa snorted. “Are we roleplaying?”

“Merely an observation.” Petyr shrugged, his fingers sinking into the supple flesh of her ass, squeezing gently as his other hand slipped between her legs.

Her breath hitched as his fingers trailed along her slit, and then she surged forward, kissing him hard, her tongue finding his almost instantly. Forgetting his earlier intentions, he gripped her waist with both hands, pulling her close until her chest was pressed up against his, her center rubbing against his cock, which was already straining against his pants. She rocked against him, the slickness between her thighs seeping through the fabric, and he groaned and let go of her waist, desperate to free himself and drive into her wet heat.

Sansa rose up obligingly as he fumbled blindly beneath her skirt, and then she was sinking down, taking him in inch by inch until they were completely joined, her eyes holding his through it all, piercing blue through the mask. Petyr reached up and pulled the mask off, wanting only to see her, and no one else, discarding it as she began to move, slowly, purposefully, her walls gripping him as she rose and fell above him. Her gaze never strayed, those blue eyes reflecting far more than lust, mirroring what he knew his own must look like to her. And he watched her, the way her chest rose and fell, movements quickening as their pace increased. The way she kept fighting against closing her eyes, lost to her rapture. The way her lips moved as she moaned and cried out, syllables both unintelligible and familiar. All for him.

Only for him.

Soon he was bucking wildly up into her, and her long, flowing skirt, which had somehow worked its way under his leg as they moved, was tearing as they moved frantically against each other, but she hardly seemed to mind, her gaze refusing to falter from his. And then he felt her tensing around him and watched as her eyes shuttered closed, helpless against the rush of her current euphoria. The look on her face as she came undone sent him straight over the edge and into the depths of the chaos she always brought him to, and yet he kept his eyes open, her image his anchor against the storm.

Petyr gathered her close, feeling her heartbeat settle against his as she returned from her own maelstrom, and then she was kissing every inch of exposed skin she could find, and they were shedding their now likely ruined costumes. Somehow, he was already hard again, and Sansa was running her tongue along his length, on her knees before him. He threaded his hands into the silky fire of her hair as her head bobbed, lips and tongue teasing along his sensitive flesh as the fingers of one hand wrapped around the base of his cock, stroking where her mouth could not reach. His hips thrusted gently against her hand, and again he found her eyes upon him, a fleeting look of mischief evident before her lashes lowered and she increased her efforts, clearly intent on bringing him to his peak.

Normally he would have resisted, determined to give as much as he got, but tonight he knew she wanted differently, to gift him with the privilege of coming in her mouth as he so rarely did. And so he allowed it, reveling in the sight of her lips wrapped around his cock, and the way she was toying with her clit with her free hand, aroused in her task. Petyr’s hands tightened in her hair, scraping against her scalp, and she moaned, the vibrations stealing along his length. A groan ripped free from his throat as her eyes met his once more, hooded and dark, and then he was pulsing between her lips as her name spilled from his.

Sansa released him with soft ‘pop’ when he’d finished, smiling lazily up at him before using her tongue to tease away a bead of cum still clinging to the tip of his cock. He watched her run her tongue along her lips, chasing every last hint of him still lingering, and then she stood and he kissed her, not caring if he tasted himself on her tongue.

Honestly, he wasn’t sure he’d ever had a better birthday. And he suspected that, so long as he was with Sansa, he’d now look forward to it every year.

 

* * *

 

The following day they celebrated Petyr’s birthday as he’d initially intended, at one of his favorite restaurants, surrounded by his family, Sansa by his side. Since they were still technically celebrating, he and Sansa refrained from continuing their conversation about Ros until he got back from work on Monday. Instead of talking in person, they were texting, since he hadn’t yet asked her to move in with him and, though he’d happily spend every spare moment with her, they both recognized that they should spend some time apart else they’d eventually hit that point where they needed a break.

Which he really didn’t think he’d reach, but was worried she would, so he agreed to it. And anyway, they ended up talking to each other on the phone or through text more often than not on evenings apart (which kind of defeated the purpose but he wasn’t about to complain). He’d picked himself up take out he’d called ahead for from one of his regular restaurants (he didn’t feel like cooking) and was just sitting down at the counter to eat when his phone vibrated, indicating a text from Sansa.

Sansa: Hey

Sansa: How was your day?

Petyr: Fairly uneventful, thankfully. Tywin’s relegated Joffrey to nonessential tasks again, so I don’t have to spend all day cleaning up after the twat.

Sansa: That’s good.

Petyr: How was yours?

Sansa: Eh. Olenna and Varys have been bickering since this morning. But otherwise not horrible.

Sansa: Could be better.

Petyr: Sorry to hear that.

He began to type ‘Sure you still want to spend tonight alone?’ but stopped when she sent another text.

Sansa: So um, we never exactly finished talking about Ros.

Petyr: There’s really not much else to tell.

Petyr: But ok. What did you want to talk about?

Sansa: You two still seemed pretty friendly. How did you meet, anyway? Through Varys?

Petyr: No

Petyr: She used to work at The Mockingbird.

Sansa: As a stripper?

Petyr: Yes.

Petyr: In addition to more managerial duties.

Petyr: She was using the money she made to put herself through school. When she graduated and began looking for work as a producer, I mentioned that Varys needed a new one, so she went for an interview and got the job.

Sansa: And when did you two, er….

Petyr: Start hooking up? Not until a few months after she started working for Varys. She and I had always got on well, and I asked her to go with me to a company event when my date bailed at the last minute. Strictly as friends.

Sansa: Obviously that didn’t go as planned.

Petyr: Technically it did. We just added the qualifier ‘with benefits.’

Sansa: :P

Sansa: And it never became anything more than that?

Petyr: No. I didn’t want anything more, and she knew that. She didn’t either. Not with me anyway.

Petyr: It was a matter of convenience, more than anything. We rarely met up unless she was my date for the evening for LASE.

Sansa: And you ended it about a year ago?

Petyr: Yes

Petyr: She wanted to find someone, get serious about settling down. You can’t really do that when you have a fuck buddy.

Sansa: Do you still see her?

Petyr: Not often. Occasionally she stops by The Mockingbird to see Olyvar, Shae, and the others, with whom she’s still on good terms. And, since she works with Varys, I’ve seen her when he throws the occasional party, when we’re both invited.

Sansa: Varys used to throw parties?

Sansa: nm. Off topic. When was the last time you saw her?

Petyr: Yes, he did.

Petyr: I’m not sure. Perhaps six months ago? Sometime around then.

Petyr: But sweetling, you really don’t need to worry.

Petyr: I promise you.

Sansa: Why doesn’t he throw parties anymore?

Sansa: I’m not really. Just, idk I just needed to know.

Sansa: I trust you.

Petyr: Good

Petyr: I trust you too

Petyr: As for Varys, I’m assuming because Olenna lives with him now.

Sansa: Kind of awkward to throw a party when your mom lives with you?

Petyr: Probably

Sansa: He should get over that. I’d love to throw another party

Petyr: We just had a party

Petyr: My apartment’s only just recovered.

Sansa: Well it would be at Varys’ place, not yours.

Sansa: If he threw one I mean.

Petyr: You just want another chance to glare daggers at Ros

Sansa: No

Sansa: And what do you mean another?

Petyr: I think you know

Sansa: I was not

Petyr: You were

Petyr: But it was cute

Sansa: Shut up

Petyr: <3

Sansa: <3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so there you have it! The official reveal (finally) of Petyr’s usual date to work functions. Also, Frasier fans might notice a show reference there (Roz/Ros). And since canon Ros doesn’t have a known last name, I thought I’d give her one, and her last name in this fic is another nod to Frasier ;).
> 
> Hope you liked the little taste of jealous!Sansa, and how everything played out! And everything else that happened of course :). There are a few (small) hints in this chapter too about some stuff that's coming ;)


	44. Chapter 44

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa and Petyr head to Ohio for Thanksgiving with the Starks.

Sansa had a headache.

She was trying to figure out a way in which she could spend both Thanksgiving and Christmas with both of her families. For that was what the Tyrells were to her now. Not just Petyr, and Margaery (who'd always felt like a sister to her, since they'd first met freshman year), and Loras (who'd practically been yet another brother), but Olenna and Varys as well. But the Tyrells lived in New York and the Starks lived in Ohio, and it seemed impossible that she would be able to spend either holiday with both of them.

Her one comfort was that, no matter what, Petyr had told her they'd spend the holidays together. Even if it meant celebrating with his own family on another day. She felt pretty guilty about that, but that guilt didn’t extend to telling him he should stay with the Tyrells if she went home for Thanksgiving. Petyr had assured her that Olenna wouldn’t mind, that they’d never made much of a fuss over the holiday before anyway (Olenna hated turkey and always served honey baked ham instead, and Luthor had only cared about watching football and eating pumpkin pie). Christmas was a different story, as Sansa now knew that it held a special significance to Olenna and Varys in particular, but Sansa was determined to find a way where she could spend Christmas with both of her families so that no one would be let down and everyone would be happy.

So she hatched a plan, and hoped that it might work.

When her mother had called to ask about Thanksgiving, Sansa said she would come home for the holiday, and bring Petyr with her, before Cat had even asked. Her mother had been pleasantly surprised, and hadn’t even seemed bothered that Petyr would be coming too. Cat just seemed happy that she would have Sansa back at home for the holiday, especially since many who usually attended wouldn’t be coming.

Sansa’s Aunt Lyanna and Uncle Rhaegar had chosen to host their own Thanksgiving this year, and Jon and Ygritte would be dining with them. Edmure Tully (Cat’s brother) and his new wife, Roslin, would be staying in Long Island with Sansa’s grandfather, whose health was ailing. And Sansa’s Great Uncle Brynden would be staying with in Long Island as well. Cat had wanted to make the trip out to Long Island (which would have solved all of Sansa’s problems) but, ever frugal, couldn’t justify making the trip when they’d have to return so soon after they arrived.

Sansa took this new information and stored it in the back of her mind for later. Long Island wasn’t so far away from Manhattan, and indeed Hoster Tully’s house was on the same street where the Tyrells had lived, and Sansa knew Olenna still owned the house. If Cat wanted to make a longer trip out to see her father, brother, and uncle, then what better time than Christmas, when Arya, Bran, and Rickon would all have plenty of time off of school?

Her father’s younger brother, Benjen Stark, wouldn’t be coming either, off in the middle of nowhere in Alaska and content with the solitude it brought. Ned was disappointed, but Sansa wasn’t surprised. Benjen rarely visited anymore. Not since he’d come back from his latest tour in Afghanistan and quit the army. He’d seen too much, and now he just wanted peace and quiet.

Sansa and Petyr purchased tickets for the Wednesday before Thanksgiving, not wanting to deal with the crowds that would likely be unbearable on the actual day. She hugged Olenna, Margaery, Loras, and even Varys goodbye at the airport where they’d come to see her and Petyr off, and expressed her regret that they couldn’t all be together tomorrow.

“Never you mind,” Olenna said. “I’m not going to lift a finger tomorrow. Thanks to Petyr, I’ve got my ham, and we’ll be eating that and some of the pies leftover from apple picking back in October.”

“And chips,” Loras put in helpfully.

“And plenty of alcohol with which to drown our sorrows, born only from your absence,” Varys said dryly, eyes fixed on Petyr.

“We’ll be watching the parade too,” Margaery chipped in. “I found a great drinking game to go along with it. It’ll be a riot.”

Sansa laughed. “Can’t believe I’m going to miss that! Be sure to take lots of pictures.”

“Steer clear of Ned with the carving knife,” Varys advised Petyr.

“Are you insinuating I look like overcooked turkey?” Petyr asked, smirking at Sansa when she swatted at him for implying that her family would overcook the bird. Which, based on past experience, they would, but he didn’t know that.

“Hardly. I’m sure the turkey will look far better. I merely meant that I’m sure you’ll do something to offend him, and that it’s best to exercise caution when he’s got a handy weapon at his disposal,” Varys replied.

Olenna poked Varys with her cane. “Enough now, your brother will think you don’t love him.”

“If my concern for his wellbeing doesn’t show love, I’m not sure what does,” Varys said.

“Uh huh. I wasn’t born yesterday, mister,” Olenna fired back. “And no cracks about my age. I get it, I’m old.” She turned to Sansa and Petyr. “Now you two get, or you’ll miss your flight,” she said, shooing them away.

Once on the plane, Sansa fretted about what might happen during their stay and whether or not her plan would work. She’d already informed Petyr of her hopes for this Christmas, and he’d agreed to help, and of course she’d had to talk to Olenna and Varys as well, to get permission, both of whom had given their blessings. All that was left was for Thanksgiving to go smoothly (easier said than done), and to propose that her family join her in the city for Christmas vacation. With her grandfather close by (a little over an hour away, in Long Island), as well as Edmure and his wife, and her Uncle Brynden, Sansa thought maybe her mother would be more willing to go. Especially since Cat couldn’t see her family for Thanksgiving, and Hoster Tully wasn’t well (hadn’t been for years, but he’d been even worse as of late). And her parents had said they would be interested in visiting Manhattan sometime.

‘Please let this work,’ she prayed silently, squeezing Petyr’s hand as she worried at her bottom lip with her teeth.

“It’ll be fine,” Petyr reassured her, again and again, and yet she wasn’t comforted. She wanted this so desperately.

And so much could go wrong.

Her father met them at the airport, along with Arya, who’d come mainly because it got her out of helping Cat cook and clean in preparation for tomorrow (the house had to be spotless, even though the only guests would be Jeyne and Petyr, and Jeyne had seen the house in obscene disarray more than once). Sansa was immediately pulled into a bear hug when Ned spotted them, and couldn’t help grinning against his scratchy wool sweater. When she pulled away, her father was beaming too.

“Your mother is just so thrilled that you could come,” Ned told her.

“Yeah, cause she could use all the help in the kitchen she can get,” Arya quipped, before turning to Petyr with a wicked grin. “Someone’s gotten a few more grey hairs. Vacation with us must’ve taken a lot out of you, huh? Guessing you’ll have a full head of it before you leave Saturday.”

“You mean like your old man?” Ned asked her, looking affronted.

Petyr smirked, clearly enjoying how Arya’s attempt to rile him had backfired.

Arya looked contrite, then shrugged. “Gee Dad, I hadn’t noticed. Are you grey?”

Ned snorted. “Good save,” he said, rolling his eyes before turning back to Sansa. “Ready to go?”

“All set,” she confirmed.

They made their way to where Ned had parked the family van and piled in, Arya snagging the front seat for herself while Sansa and Petyr lugged their bags around to the trunk. Arya needn’t have hurried, Sansa didn’t care about sitting up front anymore. Sitting in the backseat was preferable so long as she could sit next to Petyr.

Her father seemed more at ease than he had been during the family vacation, though he still didn’t seem apt to seek out conversation with Petyr. Arya had no such qualms, diving right in, and asking Petyr if he liked what she’d sent him on Facebook over Halloween, which had been a seemingly innocuous video with a jumpscare halfway through that had had Sansa right out of her own skin, but hadn’t fazed Petyr in the slightest.

“Yeah, thanks for that,” Sansa said, answering for Petyr. “I’m the one that opened the damn thing, curious as to why you were messaging him. And for the record, that deal we had? It’s so off.”

“What deal?’ Ned asked, curiously.

“It’s nothing,” said Arya quickly. “Just Sansa had asked me not to bug Petyr in exchange for some of her old CDs.” It was a terrible lie. Arya would never have touched any of Sansa’s old CDs with a ten foot pole, but their father hadn’t the slightest clue as to their individual tastes in music, and readily bought the falsehood.

Ned sighed. “Is this why your grades are slipping? Because you’re spending all of your time harassing people on Twitbook?”

Sansa snorted and Arya choked on the Coke she’d been guzzling and began to sputter.

Petyr chuckled. “Now I haven’t heard of that one before. Is it new?”

“Facebook, Dad,” Arya said exasperatedly, when she finally recovered. “They’re called Facebook and Twitter. Not Twitbook.”

“Whatever.” Ned waved his hand dismissively. “Why are you bothering Mr. Baelish on Facebook? I have to think there are far better uses of your time.” He paused, then added, tone warning. “And I certainly hope that you’re not encouraging her.”

“No, he’s never replied,” Arya grumbled. “And to answer your question, my grades are slipping because, like I’ve told you before, school is a monumental waste of my time. I don’t need a degree to be happy.”

“And just what do you plan to do? Bum off your old man for the rest of your life?” Ned asked, sounding frustrated.

“Of course not,” Arya scoffed.

“Then what?”

Arya didn’t answer, and Ned huffed. “Fine. We’ll talk about it later.”

The rest of the car ride ended in stiff silence, and Sansa was grateful when they finally pulled into the driveway. She did wonder just what Arya planned to do for a living, if she dropped out of college, but now wasn’t the time to prod. Things would be far harder if people were already tense about Arya. Tempers would flare that much easier, and she didn’t need that. Not when she wanted her family to spend their Christmas away from home for the first time in history.

They walked into the house and found total chaos. The vacuum was roaring, just out of sight, and someone was making an incredible racket in the dining room. Arya has stomped inside, not waiting for anyone else, causing her father to sigh as he helped Sansa and Petyr bring their bags into the foyer. They were just closing the front door when Cat walked into view, looking harried, her apron splattered with a myriad of colors and textures, flour coating her clothes, skin and hair.

“Oh, you’re here!” she cried, rushing forward. She made to hug Sansa, then stopped and glanced down, thinking better of it. “How was your flight?”

“Good. We-” Sansa began, before an almighty crash stopped her mid-sentence.

Cat put her head in her hands, and the roar of the vacuum cut off abruptly. “Wasn’t me!” Bran called.

“Sorry!” Rickon yelled. “Dropped the chair I was bringing up from the basement.”

Ned groaned. “Did you break anything?”

Silence.

Cat lifted her head from her hands and shot Ned a weary look. “I’ll take care of it,” Ned said hastily, then hurried off to check out the damage.

“Could be worse,” Sansa said. “At least Rickon’s not hurt.”

“That’s all we would need,” Cat said, letting out a puff of air. “A trip to the emergency room on the day before Thanksgiving. It’s one of their busiest times, you know.”

“All those people who haven’t the faintest clue how to cook a turkey,” Petyr commented. “Not to mention family disagreements over politics and the like.”

“Yes, well hopefully there’ll be none of that,” Cat said distractedly, heading back into the kitchen.

Sansa was a bit taken aback by the mess in the kitchen, though she supposed she shouldn’t have been, judging by how her mother looked. It seemed as though Cat had dropped an open bag of floor on the ground by accident, which promptly exploded all over the kitchen, dusting everything with a fine layer of white powder.

“So is this a Stark family tradition or something?” Petyr asked, clearly unable to help himself. “Transforming the kitchen into a snow scene?”

“Ha ha,” Cat muttered, crouching to scoop up the nearly empty bag, which she proceeded to dump into the trash.

Sansa shot Petyr a look and he held up his hands, chagrined. “Sorry. Couldn’t resist.” He paused. “Why don’t you get cleaned up. Sansa and I will take care of this.”

Cat turned to Sansa. “Oh, would you?” she asked, sounding relieved. Sansa nodded, and Cat smiled, looking exhausted. “Thanks, sunshine.” She paused, then glanced at Petyr. “And you too. I’ll be back soon.”

Cat shuffled out of the kitchen, trailing flour in her wake, likely tracking powdery footsteps all the way upstairs to the master bedroom. Sansa and Petyr quickly got to work, getting flour all over themselves in the process as they swept up the floor, countertops, and table as best they could, before wiping everything down. Since they already needed changing, Sansa couldn’t resist flinging a bit of flour at Petyr, white flecks settling in his hair and eyebrows. Arya came into the kitchen just in time to see it, and howled with laughter before Sansa shoved a wet rag into her sister’s hands and insisted she clean up the footprints their mother had left.

By the time they’d finished cleaning up, Cat had returned, hair still damp from the shower, laughing when she saw that both of them were now nearly as dusted as she had been, and that Petyr still had quite a bit of flour in his hair. “You look like you’ve aged quite a bit in the last half hour,” Cat told Petyr, whose eyebrows raised before he remembered that he hadn’t yet shaken out the flour Sansa had tossed in his face.

“I think it was payback for my comment earlier,” he said cheerfully, bending over the sink and running his hands through his hair, trying to dislodge all of the powdery substance.

Sansa laughed and went to help him. “That and it was too good an opportunity to pass up,” she said, then added, “Not to mention, I think we’re both going to need showers before bed anyway.”

“Speaking of which,” said Cat. “Robb and Jeyne won’t be coming until right before we eat, so she can also spend Thanksgiving with her family. Then they’ll be staying with us through Saturday, so they don’t have to drive back and forth. So Jeyne will be staying with you in your room, Sansa, and Petyr you’ll be on the pullout couch in the den.”

Out of sight of Cat, Sansa saw Petyr roll his eyes as she combed through his hair, removing as much flour as she could. “Okay,” Sansa said hesitantly. She knew exactly what her parents were up to. These sleeping arrangements not only kept Sansa and Petyr apart, but Robb and Jeyne as well. Sansa really wished her parents knew already that Robb and Jeyne were living together. Perhaps then they wouldn’t insist on such ridiculous measures, and Petyr wouldn’t be forced to sleep in the den, where Sansa couldn’t even sneak out to see him like during vacation, since there weren’t any doors.

Sansa might have fought against it, but she needed to keep the peace so that her parents would agree to come to New York for Christmas, so she decided to leave it be for another time. Instead, she and Petyr did their best to be helpful, helping Cat do a few more things in the kitchen to prepare for tomorrow, before they headed upstairs to take a quick shower apiece to wash away any stubborn flour they had failed to get rid of earlier. Sansa showed Petyr her older brother’s old bathroom, which was mercifully clean, and she used the one she shared with Arya, washing up as quickly as possible so as not to leave him alone with her family.

As it had already been pretty late when they arrived, after they showered they got ready for bed, and Sansa reluctantly showed Petyr the den, where the pullout couch was already made up for him. Cat had already turned in for the night, but everyone else was still wide awake, Sansa’s siblings each shut in their rooms. Her father was lingering in the living room in clear view of the den, pretending to watch tv, but more likely only there to make sure Sansa didn’t attempt to sleep in the den with Petyr rather than return to her own room. So she couldn’t even say a proper goodnight, feeling too awkward, settling instead for a quick peck on the lips and a whispered ‘I love you’ before she headed back upstairs.

She climbed into the bed that had been put in her room after she’d taken her old one to New York, the mattress creaking unfamiliarly as she settled in. Already she was tense about what Thanksgiving might bring, and about the prospect that her parents might say no to her proposal. What she wouldn’t give for things to go smoothly.

This was going to be a long couple of days…..

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more Thanksgiving chapter and then we're on to Christmas!


	45. Chapter 45

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thanksgiving with the Starks

There was a spring right in the middle of the couch’s pullout mattress, and, try as he might, Petyr couldn’t seem to find a way to sleep without the damn thing digging into his back. He tossed and turned for most of the night, finally drifting off after dawn had broken, only to wake again a few hours later, to the sound of people whispering not far from where he lay. Cracking one eye open, he spied Arya sitting cross legged on the floor, not even a foot away from the bed, holding a phone in her hands that was trained on his face. Bran and Rickon were crouched beside her, Bran holding another phone with the screen facing away from himself, with none other than Robb Stark featured upon it, expression alternating between amusement and grim seriousness.

“Good morning!” chirped Arya. “Sleep well?”

Petyr closed his eye again, willing the vision before him to have been a dream, before sighing and opening both eyes, feigning nonchalance as he sat up, surveying the ambush that was waiting for him. “Not particularly. There’s a rather inconveniently placed spring,” he said shrugging as if it hadn’t really bothered him all that much.

“Oh that,” said Bran. “We did try and fix that for you the other day.”

“But I’m afraid we only made it worse,” piped in Rickon.

“Yeah, sorry about that,” said Arya brightly.

Petyr raised his eyebrows. So this was how it was going to be, huh? Poorly veiled attempts at intimidation, followed, more than likely, by idle threats. Lovely. And Sansa had so hoped that her family would join them for Christmas…. “Alright, get it over with,” he said, deciding not to beat around the bush.

“Fine by me,” said Robb.

Arya got to her feet, looked disappointed, as if he’d deprived her of a great treat. Of course she’d enjoy toying with him, drawing it out as long as she could. Too bad for her, Petyr didn’t feel like indulging the Stark children in their little games. Not when he couldn’t afford a misstep that might disappoint Sansa.

“So, since it’s now Thanksgiving and you’re still with Sansa, we thought we should have a little chat,” Robb began. “Our parents were certain when you came with us to the lake that it wouldn’t last, that it was only a phase, but by the end of the vacation it was clear that wasn’t going to be the case. I am sure our father has already said his piece on the matter, but we wanted to make our own intentions clear. Hurt her and we hurt you. It’s that simple.”

“We’ll make your life a living hell,” Arya confirmed, her phone still held up. Clearly she was filming him, perhaps for something to watch and gloat about later. Beside her, Rickon crossed his arms and glowered at Petyr, and Bran held back a snicker, still holding the phone so that Robb could see Petyr and Petyr could see Robb.

“I don’t doubt it,” Petyr said dryly. “But this talk is hardly necessary. I have no plans to hurt your sister, and I assure you, she is more than capable of taking care of herself.”

“We know that,” said Arya hastily, sounding affronted. “But after Joffrey we’re taking no chances. If you hurt her, you’ll have us to deal with.”

“If I hurt her, I’ll deserve whatever vengeance you can muster,” Petyr shot back. “So we’re in agreement. Now, kindly leave me be, since this is in effect my bedroom, according to your parents’ hospitality.”

The Stark siblings all looked taken aback, but quickly complied, probably too shocked by what he’d said to form any kind of coherent retort. On their way out, they passed Sansa, who watched them go with furrowed brow before she walked into the den, sitting on the edge of the lumpy mattress.

“What was that all about?” she asked curiously, leaning in to kiss him.

Petyr sighed. “Oh, you know, the usual protective spiel. Apparently hearing it from both of your parents wasn’t enough.”

Sansa groaned. “Seriously? Gods, I’m going to kill them.”

He chuckled. “Don’t worry about it, sweetling. I think that might be the end of it.”

She cocked her head to the side. “Why’s that?”

“I’m pretty sure they took video of the whole thing, so you can watch it later,” Petyr assured her. “Suffice it to say, we’re in agreement that if I hurt you, I deserve whatever is coming to me for it.”

She laughed, then lost her smile as she realized he was being serious. “Don’t say that,” she protested. “I know you’ll never hurt me intentionally, but we’re bound to hurt each other unintentionally. That’s just the way life is. We’ll fight, and then we’ll make up, and everything will be fine.”

“I doubt they’ll seek retribution for something inconsequential,” Petyr said, tugging gently on the end of her braid, which was trailing down her shoulder.

“I don’t know, give my family an inch and they’ll take a mile,” she said skeptically.

“Regardless, you’re worth it,” he told her, kissing her gently then urging her off of the bed so he could get up. He wanted to go get dressed for the day before he saw any more Starks.

 

* * *

 

The day flew by in a flurry of cooking and cleaning, mostly cooking on Petyr and Sansa’s part, along with Cat. The rest of the family finished dusting and vacuuming and setting up the dining room table for the meal, taking frequent breaks to watch the football game, which was blaring in the living room. In the kitchen, Cat and Sansa had turned the radio on to Christmas music, and both kept singing along to their favorites, which kept alternatively shooting Petyr back into the past with memories of growing up with Cat at Christmas, and into the present, where Sansa kept trying to get him to sing with her (rather successfully more often than not). The whole thing felt completely surreal and he was grateful for the cooking to keep him busy, since it helped ground him in the present.

Never had he been so fully aware of the strangeness of their situation, where he had once been in love with Cat, and now was in love with Sansa, Cat’s own daughter. It wasn’t so much that he was worried that he’d only fallen for Sansa because of what he’d never had with Cat, but that he’d never fully had it thrust upon him how weird it was, with memory and the present tugging at him in equal measure, Christmas carols at the rein. Most of what he remembered was before he’d fallen in love with Cat, back when they were just kids, and even Lysa had been tolerable. A simpler time, where Christmas had meant something completely different to him than it did now. Something magical.

And perhaps that’s what it was, at its core. Sansa was bringing the magic back into his life. She’d awoken aspects of himself he’d repressed long ago, and, somehow, she still was. The memories he was awash in had little to do with Cat, and everything to do with what Christmas had been to him as a boy. It was all a little disorienting, but also pretty damn wonderful, and Petyr wondered what else being with Sansa had in store for him. She’d picked up his life like a snowglobe upon a shelf, and shaken it, and goddammit if he didn’t love how everything had fallen into place afterwards. And how each time she gave him another shake he reveled in both the chaos and the outcome.

She was glorious, and she was his.

And, someday soon, he was determined to make it official.

They were just sitting down to eat, Ned standing at the head of the table, carving the turkey, when Robb and Jeyne breezed in, a little late, cheeks flushed from the cold, and from something else too. Before anyone could say anything, Jeyne pulled off her glove and presented her left hand, and the room erupted, Cat and Sansa squealing, the boys, Ned and Arya whooping and cheering. The newly engaged couple were pulled into hugs, and Petyr shook Robb’s hand (Robb looked pretty wary when he’d offered it), and congratulated them both, before they all sat down again and dug into the feast before it got cold.

While they ate, Cat insisted they go around the room and say what they were thankful for. Robb and Jeyne were of course thankful for each other (that she said yes, that he had asked), Arya for the break from school, Bran for his girlfriend Meera, Rickon for video games (“and family too,” he’d added hastily), and Cat for her children.

“I’m thankful for all of you, of course,” said Sansa. “And for the Tyrells in New York, who have all been so good to me. But most of all, I’m thankful for you, Petyr. You and your entire family helped bring me back from a really dark time in my life, and somehow you’ve made my world even brighter than it was before Joffrey.”

“I’m thankful for you too, my love,” Petyr assured her. “You are truly everything to me, and I’m thankful that my family adores you just as much as I do.”

Ned coughed. “And I am thankful to be surrounded by my family on this day, and to enjoy this feast prepared by my loving wife. And to all those who couldn’t be here with us today, but are with us in spirit.”

“Hear hear!” called Arya, raising her wineglass (which was supposed to be filled with sparkling grape juice, like Bran and Rickon’s, but Petyr knew it was actually filled with wine).

Sansa cleared her throat. “Speaking of being thankful,” she said, sharing a glance with Petyr. “We are both thankful that we could spend Thanksgiving here, though I know we both miss Olenna and the others.” She paused. “And, what with Christmas coming, I’ve been thinking a lot, about how I want to spend it with both of my families, with all of you and with the Tyrells, who I’ve become so close with.” Sansa paused again, reaching for Petyr’s hand and he readily took it, providing reassurance. “So Petyr and I were wondering if perhaps all of you might join us in the city for Christmas. Make a vacation of it.”

Everyone was quiet, Ned and Cat exchanging glances, and Sansa plowed on, her words coming out in a rush. “Grandfather still lives in Long Island, along with Edmure and his new wife, and Uncle Brynden. If you came, you could go visit them. Long Island isn’t far, just a train ride away, as you know. And Olenna still owns the home where Petyr grew up, which is just down the street. You could stay in the city for a few days, see the sights. There’s the tree at Rockefeller Center, and you can go ice skating. And shopping. And Dad, you could see Mr. Baratheon too, if you wanted.”

Sansa faltered, squeezing Petyr’s hand even more tightly as she was met with continued silence, so he picked up where she’d left off. “It needn’t be an expensive trip, either. While in Long Island, you could either stay with Cat’s family, or make use of Olenna’s home there, which has more than enough room.” He paused. “And while Varys doesn’t have a whole lot of room to spare in his apartment, I have enough to accommodate everyone else fairly comfortably.”

“Why couldn’t we just stay in Long Island and travel to the city?” Rickon asked curiously. “It’s not that far, is it?”

“You could,” Sansa agreed. “But it means, at the very least, paying to take the Long Island Railroad, and it’s about an hour just to get into the city. It’s far simpler and more cost effective and convenient if you stay in Manhattan while you’re sightseeing.”

Ned cleared his throat. “And your family doesn’t mind us staying with them? Or using their house if we have need of it? For at least a couple of days?”

“They don’t mind,” Petyr confirmed. “Olenna positively adores Sansa, and while I can’t exactly say Varys is thrilled with the prospect of visitors, he’s agreed to it, if only to placate Olenna. She’d make his life a living hell otherwise, until he changed his mind.”

Arya snorted. “Have to say, I like the sound of this woman. Not only is she rooting for us to come to New York, but she seems like a badass, from what I’ve heard so far.”

“I really wouldn’t want to impose,” Cat said worriedly.

“You wouldn’t be,” Sansa said quickly, shooting Petyr a look that told him that last bit had not been helping. He shrugged. “And anyway, you all can always just stay with Petyr. It might be a bit tight, but it’ll work.”

“Your place is that big?” Ned asked skeptically.

“A few of you might have to sleep on couches if no one stays with Varys, depending on how many come, but I can always prepare for that eventuality if you wish, and buy some cots or something, to put in the library,” Petyr offered, shrugging.

Bran’s eyes bugged. “You have your own library?”

“It’s amazing,” Sansa told her younger brother. “Lot’s of rare books, and not just of the classics.”

Cat was staring at Ned, clearing contemplating the benefits and detractions of spending Christmas in the city. On the one hand, they’d get to go on vacation with the bulk of the expense taken care of, since they wouldn’t have to stay in a hotel. Not to mention, it was New York, and they’d not only get to see Sansa, but Cat’s family as well, and Ned could see his old friend too. But on the other hand, it meant spending Christmas with Petyr and his family, and staying with them. And Petyr was sure Cat was feeling more than a little apprehensive about seeing Olenna again after everything that had happened. They’d once been very friendly, but after Ned nearly killed him, and Lysa basically destroyed his life by starting the whole thing (and then some), Olenna had cold shouldered the entire Tully family.

Petyr hadn’t been the one to ask Olenna if Sansa’s family could come and stay, but he imagined his mother was only biding her time until she could say her piece. Olenna would try to be civil for Sansa’s sake, but eventually she’d lose her cool and let her nature take over, cutting right to the heart of the matter.

He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t looking forward to it, at least a little bit. Even though it would probably turn the Christmas festivities sour.  
He was petty like that, sometimes. But then, he never claimed to be perfect.

“I would like to see Dad,” Cat said finally. “And Edmure and Roslin. And Uncle Brynden too. I’m still upset they couldn’t come for Thanksgiving this year.” She paused, still looking at Ned. “What do you think?”

“I wouldn’t mind seeing Robert again,” Ned admitted. “Even though I still have a bone to pick with him about certain matters,” he added darkly.  
Sansa shifted awkwardly in her seat next to Petyr, and he ran his thumb across her knuckles, soothing away the memories her father had likely awoken. They all knew exactly to whom Ned had been referring. One of these days, Petyr would rather like to have a ‘talk’ with Joffrey himself, foregoing the ‘father’ and going straight to the source.

“I think we should go,” Arya piped up, her brothers nodding in agreement, though Petyr noticed Robb did so somewhat hesitantly before looking anxiously at Jeyne.

Ned and Cat shared a look, doing their little telepathic exchange that made Petyr wonder if he looked just as ridiculous when he did the same thing with Sansa. He hoped not. Ned looked more like he was constipated than actually thinking, whenever he traded those looks with his wife. Cat just looked weary, though Petyr supposed that was from all the stress of cooking for Thanksgiving.

Finally, both of Sansa’s parents smiled and nodded. “Yes,” Cat confirmed, turning to Sansa as her smile widened. “We would love to.”

 

* * *

 

Later, with the Starks draped all over the living room eating slices of pie piled high with whipped cream and ‘It’s a Wonderful Life’ playing on the TV, Petyr received a phone call from Margaery. He was sitting with Sansa on the couch, and, when Margaery begged him to turn the call to video, complied. Margaery did the same, and soon he could see her, with Olenna, Varys, Loras, and even Renly in the background, and they all waved and exchanged hellos. Every member of his family was clearly a little tipsy, as was Renly, who had obviously decided not to spend Thanksgiving with Robert and his family (couldn’t blame him there). They kept talking over one another and cackling, and Olenna kept slipping potato chips into the pockets of Varys’ smoking jacket when Varys wasn’t looking (though she would have done that sober, to be honest).

Petyr and Sansa tried to talk with them for awhile, but what with their inebriation and the general havoc of the Stark’s living room, it was a lost cause, and eventually they just hung up while Loras and Varys were bickering about whether Winnie the Pooh wore pants (which Petyr had no idea why or how they’d even come across the topic, let alone why they were impassioned enough to fight about it. Not to mention, of course Winnie the Pooh didn’t wear pants. Though Petyr wasn’t sure why, when the bear bothered with a shirt.), figuring they probably wouldn’t even notice. In the end, Petyr had been half right, and he received a text close to midnight with Olenna chastising him for hanging up without saying goodbye. He’d fired one back saying ‘took you long enough,’ and another saying ‘goodnight,’ then rolled over and tried to get some sleep, a well placed blanket he’d pilfered earlier shielding him from the worst of the spring in the couch’s deplorable mattress.

The next day was lost to Christmas nostalgia, for not only the Starks but Petyr as well, as Cat pulled out the family’s decorations, many of which were straight from her childhood. Apparently the Starks had a tradition of decorating the house the day after Thanksgiving, both inside and out. By the end of the day Friday, it looked as though Santa Claus had shown up and vomited holiday cheer everywhere. There were snow scenes and nativity sets, homemade ornaments, gaudy figurines Petyr couldn’t even stand to touch let alone decorate his own home with, hand cut snowflakes, window clings, candles, and so on and so forth.

And the outside was an explosion of light, which Ned and his sons (and Arya) had spent hours weaving through trees and bushes, finally turning them on when the sky darkened and nearly blinding themselves before a third of them shorted out (Petyr tried not to laugh, but really, why hadn’t they tested them first? Sansa had seen him turn it into a cough and elbowed him, but he saw her trying to hide a grin too). Petyr stayed inside, where it was warm, and enjoyed watching Sansa’s face light up as she recognized treasured items from her past, regaling him with tales of how she’d received them, and what they meant to her. Cat told Sansa to take a few with her, so that she could have them with her at her new home, and Sansa gave Petyr a sly smile that he knew likely meant he’d be getting a Christmas tree.

He did wonder why they were bothering with decorating, when they’d be spending Christmas in New York, but he supposed they’d enjoy it all month before the big day anyway. And Sansa looked so happy, reliving memories of Christmases passed, so who was he to spoil it?  
After decorating the house, they spend the evening decorating (or just plain eating, really, in the case of everyone but Sansa and Cat, Jeyne, and himself) freshly baked Christmas cookies. The Stark boys and Arya spent about a half hour goofing off with the icing and edible decorations, making gingerbread men and women that were highly inappropriate for anything other than being eaten immediately, and even managed to make a few other holiday shaped cookies look lewd. Eventually Cat sent them away, since she needed to keep some of the cookies pure for the donations she’d planned, and then she shooed Ned away as well, because he kept breaking the cookies, too heavy handed with spreading the frosting. All of those banned kept sneaking back in to try and steal the completed cookies, but Sansa and Cat were apparently used to this. After the first two times it happened Sansa retrieved a spray bottle, which she then used to squirt water in Arya’s face as she tried to snatch a cookie.

When the trip came to an end, Petyr was more than ready to go home and be free from Sansa’s family’s antics, but he was grateful that her parents had agreed to come for Christmas. He knew that Sansa would never have been content otherwise, unhappy that she wouldn’t get to spend Christmas day with everyone she loved. And even though it meant he’d be spending the day with Ned and Cat and their unruly brood, and possibly even dealing with Hoster Tully and Edmure (Petyr had always liked Brynden), he was happy to deal with them all if it meant making Sansa happy. The holidays clearly meant far more to her than they did to him, and he was willing to do anything to make them special for her.  
Hell he’d even deal with Lysa if he had to, but he sincerely hoped that it would never come to that. And Sansa, at least, wouldn’t subject him to her aunt, he was sure.

Still, he was willing to do whatever it took to make Sansa happy. And if that meant letting the entire Stark family into his home over the holidays, so be it. He’d be happy too, so long as she was with him.

He was just stupidly in love like that.

It was masochistic, really, to be willing to do anything if only to make her happy, but oh she was certainly worth the pain it might bring.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Christmas is coming! A little bit late, but better late than never lol
> 
> Updates will be slowing down, at least for a little while, to about once a week. I'm trying to finish another project so that's been taking up my time as of late. I promise there's still lots more to come though and I won't ever abandon this fic until its officially finished :).


	46. Chapter 46

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Starks arrive for Christmas in the city.

Now that Sansa had gotten her wish for both of her families to be together on Christmas, she had so much to do to prepare for it. So much, in fact, that the month of December seemed to blur by, like she’d blinked and the days she’d had left before her family’s arrival simply vanished, melting like snow on the city sidewalks that so often refused to keep it. In the end, Sansa had decided it would be best for everyone, including herself, to stay with Petyr, rather than split between Petyr’s and Varys’ apartments. Not only did it make things easier for getting around in the morning to sightsee (she knew Varys and Olenna wouldn’t be interested in sightseeing, having lived in or near Manhattan long enough for the novelty to have worn off from most of the attractions), but she figured Olenna and Varys would be grateful for the reprieve. Her family could be a bit much.

This did present a slight problem with where everyone would sleep, but not so much if her parents wouldn’t throw a fit about Sansa sleeping in Petyr’s room, and about Robb and Jeyne sharing. It had come out, soon after Robb and Jeyne’s engagement, that Robb and Jeyne were living together, and though Ned and Cat had expressed disappointment, they’d begrudgingly accepted it. So Sansa was hopeful that it might work out. Petyr had three guest bedrooms, each with a king sized bed, so if her parents took one, Bran and Rickon shared, and Robb and Jeyne were allowed to take the third, that only left Arya, unless Sansa’s parents threw a fit. 

Sansa decided maybe she’d just not mention where she was sleeping, and just do as she usually did and share with Petyr, not flaunting it, but just acting like it was normal. Perhaps then, by not addressing it outright or or trying to hide it, they’d avoid a fight. It was worth a try.

As for Arya, Sansa went out with Petyr and picked out a cute little daybed that she thought would be great in the library. It would be perfect to lounge on while she was picking through his literary collection on lazy days. Though she suspected it might be used for other activities, more often than not….

Not when her sister was using it, of course.

Sleeping arrangements done, she focused on finding the perfect gift for everyone and on decorating Petyr’s apartment. He’d refused to let her get a real tree, but she hadn’t expected he’d allow it. Even her parents had given in to the convenience of fake Christmas trees. But she still missed the piny scent and the experience of picking out a real tree, and he clearly could tell, so when it came to getting Olenna’s home ready (the day before her family was set to arrive), he surprised her by stopping at a Christmas tree vendor on the way. They’d woven through the freshly cut varieties of pine while fat snowflakes spun from the sky, catching in their hair and melting on their skin, and she’d picked out the perfect tree while Christmas carols danced on the wind.

They’d left that tree bare but for lights, since Olenna wanted to help decorate it and the rest of the house after they all retreated to Long Island on Christmas Eve, Varys, Margaery and Loras included. Sansa’s family would be staying in Olenna’s home as well, though it would be a little tight. Initially Sansa had thought the Starks would be staying with her mother’s family while they were in Long Island, but Cat had decided against it, worried about Hoster’s health and the effect so many visitors would have on him. Thankfully, Olenna’s home couldn’t be described as anything less than a mansion, else with twelve people (possibly more, if Renly chose to come) and two cats, they’d be unable to breathe, let alone do anything else. 

As Sansa’s grandfather lived just down the street, within easy walking distance, they would split Christmas Day between the two homes, migrating back and forth as needed, though the meal would be served at Olenna’s. Sansa’s grandfather would be too sick to leave his home, but he did little more than sleep these days, and only received nourishment from an IV (her Great Uncle Brynden, Uncle Edmure and Edmure’s wife Roslin took care of him, along with around the clock in home care from a team of nurses, of which Roslin had formerly been a part). At any rate, it was best to keep festivities to a minimum at the Tully house, and save the bulk for Olenna’s, so as not to disturb Hoster, though they would visit with him whenever he was awake. 

She couldn’t wait to see everyone again, even as her nerves pinged constantly, reminding her of everything that could go wrong. It was the first time that the Starks would meet the Tyrells in their entirety, and that was unnerving enough without the rather muddy past between a few key family members on both sides. Petyr and her parents had managed to set things aside for the most part, but Sansa worried that Olenna would be a different story. The Tyrell matriarch was nothing if not fiercely protective of those she loved, and both of Sansa’s parents had wronged Olenna’s son in a way that had damaged him for life, physically and mentally. 

Not to mention, though some of the Tullys lived nearby the Tyrells for many years afterward, Sansa doubted Petyr and the rest of the Tyrells had had much contact, if any, with any of them since that fateful day, and the whole mess with Lysa that followed. Sansa’s grandfather was unlikely to be lucid enough to recognize his own children, let alone his old neighbors, but Edmure and Brynden Tully might be an entirely different matter. Particularly her Uncle Edmure, who’d never had much sense, if she was being completely honest. 

Sansa hadn’t been to Long Island to see any of them, even though she’d been just a train ride away for years. She felt guilty about it, but she didn’t really know her grandfather well, or her uncle and great uncle. They hadn’t seen each other with any regularity since she was perhaps five years old. Her grandfather hadn’t been in the best of health for a very long time, and Brynden (who’d never married) stayed with him and cared for him, with help from Edmure. It was rare for any of them to leave Long Island anymore, and though Sansa knew her mother missed her family, the Starks always seemed too busy to make the trip out together. Cat usually visited on her own, and never for more than a few days. 

Even so, Sansa felt awkward about seeing Edmure and Brynden again, letting the knowledge of her close proximity hang between them as they made small talk and avoided the fact that she hadn’t visited before now. Add to that the fact that she was dating Petyr, whom Sansa was sure they considered in the wrong as far as the past went, and she wasn’t sure she could muster up the courage to mingle with them at all.

In addition to the family drama they were likely to be embroiled in, Robert Baratheon had invited her father and the entire family to the LASE company Christmas party on the Saturday before Christmas. Which meant that Sansa actually could go with Petyr despite the fact that Tywin had told Petyr not to bring her and that Cersei would most certainly throw a fit. But it also meant she’d have to see Joffrey, who would undoubtedly be there and ready to cause trouble. And with her father there, and her brothers, and Arya, Sansa was certain fists were going to fly and they’d all get thrown out of the party, and then that would be the end of her father’s friendship with Robert.

Which okay, she’d secretly be kind of relieved about, since it was hard when your horrible ex’s dad was best friends with your dad, but still. She’d also feel bad. If only Joffrey wasn’t such a complete fuckwit. 

And if only her father and siblings could keep their tempers in check.

Oh gods. It was hopeless

This was all going to go horribly, terribly wrong. And it would be all her fault.

But Sansa tried not to think about that as she waited with Petyr at the airport for her family to arrive. Christmas was on a Monday this year, and her parents had decided to come late on Friday night, after Bran and Rickon got out of school and the rest had gotten off of work (Arya had been out of school since Thursday). They would be staying until Wednesday, when they would take an early flight home.

Petyr had generously decided to solve the little problem of transportation (since, due to the sheer number of people, they couldn’t exactly all fit in one car, or even two, and he hated using taxis) by renting a limo for the duration of her family’s stay in the city, complete with a driver. Sansa also suspected he just wanted to show off a little, but she hardly minded. It would be fun, and hopefully everyone would be so impressed and dazzled by the sights of the city and Petyr’s wealth that they wouldn’t have time to fight.

Her family was easily spotted, even amongst the crowds of people, all hauling a ridiculous amount of luggage (the majority of which Sansa was sure were filled with presents). Cat and Ned rushed forward once they saw her, ready to drop everything they were holding and sweep her up in a hug, but Sansa laughed and told them to wait. 

“Let’s get everything into the car first. It’s stifling in here and I’m tired of people bumping into me.” She turned and waved for them to follow her and Petyr outside to where she knew the limo was parked at the curb. 

“The car?” Cat asked, sounding worried. “Sansa I don’t think we’re all going to fit….”

“Oh you’ll fit,” Petyr assured her.

“How? I mean you can always throw Rickon in the trunk, and Bran can ride up top, but you’ll still have trouble what with all the luggage mom brought,” Arya reasoned. “And anyway, I kind of doubt you’d drive a van and I know Sansa doesn’t have a car.”

“You’ll see,” Sansa teased, helping Petyr hold the doors open for her family as they spilled out onto the sidewalk and into the cool night air.

Rickon stopped dead and dropped his luggage with a clunk, which Arya, trying to dodge out of the way of the people filing out after her, promptly tripped over. Ned caught her before she face planted on the sidewalk and when she righted herself again, she gaped at the stretch limo. “Oh my gods,” Arya practically screeched. “ **_This_ ** is what you drive?”

Noticing that they’d returned, the limo driver got out and popped the trunk. 

Petyr chuckled. “No.”

“He just rented this to make things easier while you’re all here,” Sansa explained, trying not to laugh at her mother’s face as the limo driver gently pried the bags from her hands so he could put them into the trunk.

“You shouldn’t have,” said Cat weakly.

“Believe me, what with the cost of such a large group taking taxis everywhere, we’re saving money,” Petyr said. “Not to mention, I got a steep discount, since I do regular business with this limo service via my club.”

Ned frowned. “In what capacity?”

“Why, thinking of visiting?” Petyr asked, removing several bills from his wallet and tipping the driver when he’d finished fitting all of the luggage into the trunk.

“No,” Ned sputtered, turning red. 

“Robert’ll probably want you to come with him at some point,” Petyr said, waving at all of them to get into the limo so that they could get moving and free up space for other travelers. “He’s a regular, you know.”

They all filed into the limo, sitting comfortably side by side with plenty of room to spare, with Sansa between Petyr and her father, who looked like he wanted to ask more about Petyr’s dealings with the limo company, but was trying to exercise restraint. Her siblings quickly found the mini fridge, passing around cold sodas and bottles of water to share, a few digging into the snacks in the cupboard beside it despite the fact that it was ten o'clock at night. Cat, who was sitting across from Sansa, seemed to have shaken away her awe and was now beaming at Sansa.

“I can’t believe we’re finally here,” Cat said. “I’ve missed you so much, sunshine. And I can’t wait to see your life here in the city.”

Sansa grinned back at her mother, excitement mounting. Maybe, just for once, everything would go smoothly. It would be a Christmas miracle, for sure, but it wasn’t out of the realm of possibilities. Was it? “Well we won’t be doing anything until tomorrow, but you’ll get to see Petyr’s place,” she said.

“That’s okay,” Cat assured her. “As anxious as I am, I am also exhausted. Just getting everyone out of the house was a trial in itself.”

“And the flight was horrible,” Bran added. “So many screaming kids I thought my eardrums were going to shatter.   


“No kidding,” Rickon grumbled.

“What are you complaining about?” Arya asked, elbowing him. “You were one of them.”

Rickon gave her the finger and guzzled the rest of his soda, crunching it in his fist. Cat sighed, before turning back to Sansa. “It was awful.”

“We didn’t have any problems,” Robb chipped in, his arm wrapped around Jeyne’s shoulders.

“That’s because you two got bumped up to first class,” Arya shot back. “Coach was a nightmare.”

Petyr winced. “Coach? Really?”

“Well, with so many of us flying, I didn’t have much of a choice,” Ned said defensively. “And it wasn’t that bad.” Cat gave him a look. “Fine, it was.” He sighed, then added. “But it’s over now so let’s just drop it and enjoy our Christmas.”

“Good idea,” Cat said agreeably.

 

* * *

 

They arrived at Petyr’s building with little hassle, and Sansa and Petyr helped her family haul everything up to his penthouse apartment, taking the elevator in shifts. The bags were unceremoniously dumped by the front door (Sansa could tell Petyr hated that, but he refrained from commenting) and Sansa’s parents immediately pulled her in for a hug before requesting that they be shown around. Sansa and Petyr gave everyone a quick tour, pointing out where everyone would be sleeping along the way (no one seemed to bat an eye at Robb and Jeyne sharing a room, which Sansa took as a good sign), and Sansa tried not to laugh as her family fought to hide their admiration. When the tour was finished, her family scattered, seeking out various bathrooms situated around the apartment or grabbing their bags and moving them into their rooms for the next couple of days, upon Cat’s request.

Sansa followed Petyr into the kitchen, smiling as he got them each a glass of water with lemon, anticipating her needs as he always did. She drank deeply, enjoying the silence that had temporarily enveloped them, comfortable and familiar, and knowing that it wouldn’t last. “Not regretting anything, are you?” she asked coyly, setting aside her half empty glass and slipping into his arms.

He chuckled, his hands finding their familiar haunts, one upon on waist, the other threaded through her hair. “Should I be?”

She rolled her eyes, brushing her nose against his. “Don’t answer my question with another question,” she scolded.

“Why not?” he asked, mouth tilting in a smirk that drew her eyes to his lips.

“Stop,” she groaned, fighting to hide her smile.

“When I know you secretly love it? Now where would the fun be in that?”

Sansa groaned again but knew he was right, and that smirk was just begging to be tasted, so she gave it up as a lost cause and kissed him. They likely wouldn’t have much time alone in the coming days. Might as well enjoy it.

Really, she should have known better, with her family newly arrived, but having Petyr around often had a tendency to rob her of her senses, and soon she’d forgotten all about anything else, lost in the feel of his lips against hers. Luckily, or rather unluckily, before they’d done anything more than heavily make out, Rickon happened upon them in the kitchen and they sprang apart. Sansa braced herself for whatever his reaction might be, but her little brother just ignored them and threw away an empty water bottle before leaving again.

Deciding it was better not to tempt fate again, Sansa and Petyr left the kitchen to figure out where everyone else was hiding. They found her parents by the front door, searching through the few bags still sitting there. 

“Okay, I think this one is all gifts, so it can go into our room,” Cat said, zipping the bag she’d been rifling through shut and setting it aside.

Ned nodded, unzipping another bag and brightening. “Found the cookies!” he said cheerfully.

Cat sighed in relief. “Oh, good, then that must be where all the perishables are. So then the rest of these are all gifts, and can wait to be unpacked until we get to Long Island.”

Ned hefted the remaining bags into his arms and disappeared down the hall as Cat got to her feet again. Petyr bent and picked up the bag with the cookies. “This going to the kitchen?”

Cat nodded. “And into the freezer. It’s cookies and brownies. Stuff like that. That way we don’t have to spend a lot of time cooking, and can just enjoy our time together on Christmas,” she explained.

Sansa laughed as she followed Petyr back into the kitchen. “We’ve got some desserts frozen too. Here and at Varys’. Olenna’s too. Guess we had the same idea.”

Petyr set the bag on the counter and peered inside. “You know, if I hadn’t seen how much your family was capable of eating during vacation this summer, I’d be asking you why you’d brought so much, but really I’m not sure you’ve brought enough,” he teased, pulling out a couple of packages and turning to open the freezer door.

“Yes, well I might not have,” Cat admitted. “Considering it won’t just be us, but your family, and mine, in Long Island.”

“I think we’re covered,” Sansa assured her. “We’ve still got some treats we froze back in October, plus a few we made more recently. Not to mention Petyr found peppermint ice cream the other day and couldn’t resist buying two cartons.”

“Did someone say ice cream?” Arya asked, wandering into the kitchen. “I could go for a bowl.”

“It’s nearly midnight,” said Cat exasperatedly. 

“So?” 

“So, you don’t need to be eating ice cream,” Cat admonished. “You should be getting to bed so we can be up bright and early and get some sightseeing done.”

Arya rolled her eyes, then turned to Petyr, who’d just finished putting away everything Cat had brought and shut the freezer. “We can’t find the remote to work the TV in the living room.”

Petyr frowned. “It’s usually on the coffee table, or one of the end tables next to the couch.”

Arya shrugged. “Those were the first places we looked.”

Sansa bit her lip, suddenly remembering last night, when they’d gotten distracted halfway through the Christmas movie she’d begged him to watch with her (Love Actually). She distinctly remembered that at one point they’d accidentally turned the sound on the TV to Spanish, before Petyr found the remote and shut the TV off, tossing it aside, where it likely got buried in the couch cushions. Along with something else she’d lost that night, and vowed to search for later, but had forgotten about until just then. Petyr met her gaze and she knew he’d just realized what she had.

It was a miracle that no one had searched the couch cushions yet. 

“We’ll help you look,” Sansa quickly offered.

“But why don’t you get yourself some ice cream while you’re in here,” Petyr suggested. “Bowls are up in that cupboard there, and cutlery in the draw right below.”

“Noice,” said Arya, moving immediately to the cupboard he’d indicated.

Sansa saw Cat narrow her eyes at Petyr before he left, clearly annoyed that he’d prompted Arya to get ice cream, but Sansa didn’t stick around long enough for her mother to vent her displeasure, desperate to get to the living room before one of her brothers, or, the gods forbid, her father, found her underwear wedged between the couch cushions. 

When she got there, she noted with relief that only Bran and Rickon were there, both more interested in pawing through the wrapped presents under the tree than in searching for the remote. Petyr was already by the couch, surreptitiously tucking red lace into his pants’ pocket, the remote in his other hand. Sansa grinned sheepishly at him and was rewarded with a smirk, before Arya came into the room, ice cream in hand, followed by Cat. 

“Excellent, you found it,” said Arya, flopping onto the couch and holding out her hand to Petyr expectantly in a silent plea for the remote.

“Where was it?” Bran asked, weighing one of the larger presents in his hands in hopes of determining what was inside.

“In the couch,” said Sansa. “Obviously you all tried real hard to find it,” she said sarcastically.

“We did,” Arya burbled around a bite of ice cream, flicking through Netflix to find something to watch.

Cat sighed, then noticed Bran and Rickon by the tree. “Honestly. I don’t put up with that in our home, and I won’t put up with it here,” she said sharply. “Leave the gifts alone. It’s not like you have to wait that long before you can open them.”

Bran and Rickon shrugged and replaced the gifts they’d just picked up before joining Arya on the couch, neither looking in the least bit guilty. Cat sighed again, then frowned. “Where’s Robb and Jeyne?” she asked. “And your father?”

“The lovebirds went to bed,” Rickon supplied. “Jeyne had a headache.”

“And Dad’s in the library, last I saw,” said Arya, talking around another mouthful of ice cream.

“He was curious to see what all you had in there,” Bran confirmed.

“I’ll go and check in on him, and then I’m going to bed,” said Cat. “You three don’t stay up too late. You don’t want to be too tired to enjoy the city tomorrow.”

“We’re a bit old to require a bedtime,” Arya pointed out. 

Cat arched an eyebrow. “Then act like it. And keep the noise level to a minimum. I won’t have you keeping everyone else up.”

“Roger that,” said Bran, snatching up the remote from Arya and lowering the volume.

Cat pulled Sansa in for another hug, then left for bed, and Sansa lingered in the living room, unsure what she wanted to do. It was late, but she wasn’t really all that tired yet. Having her family around, newly arrived, made her feel wired and alert. Though half of them seemed ready for bed already, and she didn’t exactly want to sit up watching South Park with Arya, Bran and Rickon. Nor, she suspected, did Petyr. 

“I think I’ll turn in too,” Sansa said finally, meeting Petyr’s gaze meaningfully. “If Dad comes back and asks after me, let him know.”

“K,” said Arya, eyes fixed on the TV.

“Night,” said Bran, focus similarly stolen.

Rickon only grunted, already completely TV zombified. None of them spared either Sansa or Petyr a second glance, and their path was unhindered to Petyr’s door. They slipped inside and Sansa changed into her pajamas, brushing her teeth in the adjoining master bathroom before crawling in next to Petyr, who was sitting up, tapping away at his laptop. She didn’t mind that he was working. He’d taken a half day yesterday to help her get everything ready for her family’s arrival, and had to make up the time somehow. Instead she curled into his side, snuggling closer as he looped an arm around her, sacrificing productivity (since now he had to type one handed) so that he could hold her, as he usually did.

Sansa was just drifting off when she heard the distinct sound of a door opening and raised her head, squinting through the dimly lit room to see her father framed by the bright light of the hallway.

“Whoops,” Ned said, flustered. “Guess I got a bit turned around there.” He made to turn around, then paused, catching sight of Sansa. 

“Go right, then hang a left,” Petyr said. “Second door on the right.”

Ned just stood there, his face turning blotchy. Sansa bit her lip, exchanging worried glances with Petyr, and wondered what she could possibly say to diffuse the situation. At least they were fully dressed….

But before she could say anything, her father found the use of his limbs again and turned around and left without another word, not even bothering to shut the door behind him.

Oh gods.

Well if that wasn’t a premonition for how Christmas was like to go, she didn’t know what was….

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <333


	47. Chapter 47

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Starks and Petyr go sightseeing, then go to lunch with the Tyrells.

At first, when he woke up, Petyr thought perhaps he wasn’t in his own home, but somewhere else entirely, where people were prowling around none too quietly and he could smell freshly brewed coffee filtering through the air. Either burglars had decided they needed a jolt of caffeine before they continued to rob him, or he hadn’t simply been dreaming when he recalled that Sansa’s family was staying with him. 

Honestly, right now he rather wished that the people outside his bedroom door were robbing him, instead of the alternative.

He’d known from the start that Sansa’s grand plan of bringing both of their families together for the holidays was like to go horrendously wrong, though even he had to admit that he hadn’t thought things would go south quite so soon. And then fucking Ned Stark had somehow managed to get himself lost (seriously, the apartment wasn’t  **_that_ ** big) and walked right into Petyr’s bedroom, thinking it was one of the guest bedrooms. 

Never mind that both Sansa and Petyr had been fully dressed (well, okay, he’d been in his boxers, but under the covers), and that she had been sleeping while Petyr caught up on some work. And never mind that Sansa had actually lived with Joffrey back when she’d been engaged to the prick. No, her father still looked like he’d walked in on them completely naked and fucking in a manner most depraved.

A part of Petyr actually kind of wished that that was what had actually happened. A very sick twisted part of him that apparently actively prayed for a painful death. Ned was so appalled at the idea of his daughter simply sleeping (just sleeping) in the same bed as Petyr that Petyr had a strong urge to flaunt the fact that he’d fucked Sansa in every room in this apartment (not to mention quite a few rooms in Ned’s beloved lake house). 

He wouldn’t give into that particular urge, of course. Not only would he be dead soon after, but Sansa would be less than pleased (and not just because he’d be dead). 

Honestly though, what did the man expect? Sansa had lived with Joffrey once. Did Ned honestly think that Sansa hadn’t at least shared Joffrey’s bed during that time? That they’d lived together, but in separate bedrooms? Did Ned honestly think that after months together, Petyr was still just giving Sansa polite pecks on the cheek or kissing the back of her hand?

Apparently denial was a river that ran pretty long and deep, in Ned’s Stark’s veins. A river that even now was likely coursing stronger, turned to hot blooded rage.

And his sweetling had had such high hopes….

Both Petyr and Sansa got dressed before they left his room, Petyr because he disliked the idea of being around company not fully dressed for the day, and Sansa because she probably was hoping to diffuse her father’s anger by not walking around in her pajamas in front of Petyr and reminding Ned of last night. As she dressed, Sansa kept shooting furtive glances at the bedroom door, expression wary, and Petyr did his best to comfort her before they left, for all the good it did.

Just as they were leaving, Bran appeared down the hall, but he merely raised his eyebrows and shrugged before following them into the kitchen, where most of the family seemed to have gathered. A large box of pastries was open on the counter, which Sansa had purchased from a bakery yesterday and labeled with a note that told her family to enjoy them for breakfast. Arya was sitting on the counter next to the box, biting into a cheese danish, a plate held underneath to catch the crumbs, and her brothers and Jeyne were all standing or sitting around the island, digging into crullers and donuts or sipping from glasses of orange juice or cups of coffee. Neither Cat nor Ned was present.

“Good danish,” Arya said appreciatively.

“Get off the counter,” Sansa ordered. “You’ll scuff up the cupboards.”

“I’m not wearing shoes,” Arya pointed out.

“Do it anyway,” Sansa snapped.

Arya slid off the counter. “Geez. What’s up your butt?”

“Nothing,” Sansa said, getting glasses from the cupboard for both herself and Petyr and shutting it rather harder than was strictly necessary. “You’re a guest here. Show some respect.”

“I am,” said Arya defensively. “I didn’t do any damage or anything. And anyway, you seem to care a lot more than Petyr that I was on the counter. He hasn’t said a word.”

Petyr, who had been eyeing the options the Stark children had left for them in the bakery box and trying to determine what kind of filling was in one of the donuts (he didn’t really want a donut, but the best offerings had already been taken), glanced up to see both Arya and Sansa staring at him. He sighed. In truth, he didn’t like that Arya was on the counter, but he’d chosen to ignore it. There were bound to be more than a few annoyances during this trip, and if he spent all his energy nitpicking over every little thing he’d go crazy. But now he had no choice but to back Sansa up. “I’d rather you didn’t.”

Arya shrugged. “Fine. I won’t do it again.” She paused. “But seriously, is something wrong? Cause no offense Sans, but you’re not exactly a ray of sunshine this morning.”

“I hope we’re not being too much of a bother,” Jeyne said worriedly.

Sansa sighed. “No, it’s not that.”

“Did Dad find out somehow that you two were sharing a room?” Bran asked, reaching to pour himself some orange juice.

Sansa dropped the donut Petyr had just offered her (he’d determined that it was filled with lemon custard, and, knowing her penchant for all things lemon, had decided she should have it. He’d have an apple instead. And coffee. Lots of coffee). “What? How did you...?” she sputtered.

Bran raised his eyebrows. “Well I did see you two leaving the same room not ten minutes ago.”

“I think she meant how did you guess about your father,” Petyr said, taking a bite of the apple he’d just retrieved from the basket on the island. 

Bran shrugged. “It was an easy conclusion to make. He’s been moody all morning, and won’t tell mom what’s wrong.”

Sansa groaned and put her head in her hands. “Great. Just great,” she muttered.

“He didn’t catch you two getting busy, did he?” Arya asked slyly.

Robb grunted, turning beet red, a shade that rather matched Sansa’s cheeks, which had colored considerably. 

“No!” Sansa said, horrified. “I was sleeping and Petyr was working.”

“Then what’s the problem?” Rickon asked. “I mean, you and Joffrey were living together.”

“Yes, but it’s one thing to know something’s happening and quite another to see proof of it,” Petyr said. “Not to mention, your parents are still having trouble accepting our relationship in the first place.”

“I don’t know why. I mean you’re miles better than that asswipe she was with before,” said Arya, before she started, clearly surprised at what she’d just said. “I mean,” she added hastily, “at least you’re loaded. And, as far as I know, you haven’t cheated on her. So that’s something.”

Petyr tossed his apple core into the trash. “I’m touched, Arya. Sweeter words have never been spoken about me.”

Sansa snorted. “Coming from her, that was high praise.”

“No it wasn’t,” Arya insisted. She turned to Petyr. “It wasn’t.”

He just smirked at her and she scowled and stole the last donut, leaning defiantly against the counter she’d been sitting on earlier as she bit into it. 

They finished eating in relative silence, and then Cat walked into the kitchen and told everyone to finish getting ready so they could leave. Petyr quickly fired off a text to the limo driver he’d hired, requesting that he arrive earlier than previously specified, then slipped his phone back into his pocket.

“So, what’s the plan for today?” Cat asked expectantly.

Sansa exchanged looks with Petyr. “Well, I thought maybe we’d go to the Empire State Building in the morning, maybe do some shopping. Then we’re supposed to meet Petyr’s family for lunch. And after that we’ll go to Rockefeller Center, see the tree, go ice skating, then come back and get ready for the LASE company Christmas party.” 

Cat nodded. “Sounds good.”

“The limo’s on it’s way,” Petyr told them. “It should be here by the time everyone’s ready to go.”

At that moment, Ned appeared in the entrance to the kitchen, spotted Petyr, reddened, then turned around and left again without another word. Cat frowned. “He’s been like this all morning,” she said, sounding upset. “I’ve tried to talk to him but he’s insisting everything is fine.” She turned to Sansa. “Did something happen I should know about?”

“Um,” said Sansa.

“Maybe he’s just tired,” Petyr said quickly. “Everyone had a late night, and it’s always difficult to adjust to sleeping somewhere new.”

Cat didn’t look convinced. “Maybe.” 

She looked ready to press further on the matter, but luckily Petyr and Sansa were both spared from saying anything more by Rickon and Arya’s return to the kitchen, where they were promptly sent back to their rooms for warmer coats by their mother. For once, Petyr was thankful for how many siblings Sansa had, and the fact that they had a tendency to interrupt and derail conversations. Before long, everyone was bundled up and ready to go (Ned still steadfastly doing his best to pretend Petyr didn’t exist, and avoiding Sansa’s gaze) and they piled into the limo, heading for the Empire State Building. 

The crowds were rather obscene, the influx of tourists worse due to the holidays, and everyone was jostled about as they waited to take the elevator to the viewing deck. Since Petyr suspected that they’d all want a picture, he paid the limo driver to come along (else it was very possible Ned would insist Petyr take the picture, which Petyr wouldn’t have minded, but he knew Sansa would want him by her side), and once everyone had oohed and ahhed at the view, the youngest Starks debating about whether or not it was true that some people peed on the tourists below, said picture was taken. Everyone crammed together, as close as they could get, Petyr wedged between Sansa and Arya, of all people, and both normal and silly versions were taken. Petyr just smirked for the silly picture (during which Sansa wrapped her arms around his shoulders and kissed his cheek), while beside him Arya pulled Rickon into a headlock and gave her younger brother a noogie. 

That typical tourist attraction crossed off of the list, they went to the heart of the city’s shopping district and ducked into several of the more famous shops, where the Starks and the Stark-to-be (Robb’s fiancee, Jeyne) shopped for souvenirs and last minute Christmas gifts. Neither Petyr nor Sansa bought anything, all of their Christmas shopping long done, but they wandered around, Sansa’s arm tucked into his, as her family explored. Ned was still avoiding both of them at all costs, and by now nearly everyone had noticed, including Cat, but he stubbornly refused to answer her questions. It seemed he was still trying to live in denial, and talking about it would further dispel his feeble grasp upon it. Either that or he didn’t want to ruin everyone’s Christmas by throwing a fit about it. Or both. 

Petyr suspected it was both.

One of the last shops they stopped at was a popular toy store, which, since everyone present was too old for the grand majority of the merchandise, was more a visit for the novelty of it than anything else. Though Cat and Jeyne did enjoying cooing over the offerings in the baby section, clearly anticipating Jon and Ygritte’s baby’s arrival (or possibly Jeyne’s future children with Robb). Cat also seemed to be searching for something for Lysa’s son, who apparently enjoyed building models with his mother (the boy was about Bran’s age, but incredibly sheltered and spoiled, from what Petyr knew. Robin had been diagnosed with epilepsy and Lysa babied him in the extreme, homeschooling him and keeping him by her side as much as possible). They’d already sent Christmas presents to the Arryns via the mail, but Robin’s birthday wasn’t too far off.

Sansa pulled Petyr over to look at the baby things for a little while (he had to wonder if that was some kind of hint for his future), and then, when her father strayed near them and turned bright red, hastily pulled Petyr in another direction, where they stumbled across one of those giant keyboards set into the floor, keys lighting up and emitting sound as people strayed across them. 

“Oh, look!” Sansa said, tugging on his arm and pointing excitedly. “Just like in that movie ‘Big.’”

Petyr remembered that iconic scene quite well. Tom Hanks dancing across the keys, playing Heart and Soul, of all things. “Did you ever learn to play?” he asked, an idea tickling the back of his brain.

Sansa nodded. “Mom taught me.” She paused, cocking her head to the side as she peered at him, lips curving slightly in a way that told him she was likely thinking the same thing. “She told me that Olenna taught her, along with most of the other kids in the neighborhood. Did Olenna ever teach you?”

“Oh yes,” Petyr confirmed. “And Varys. She tried to teach Mace too, but he had little interest in it.”

She gave him a sly grin and glanced around, noting that the space around the piano had cleared. “I’m game if you are.”

He grinned back. “Let’s see your moves then.”

Sansa approached the keyboard, testing a few notes with the toe of her boot, then began to play that familiar rhythm that had bound them both together. Petyr saw Arya, Robb and Jeyne out of the corner of his eye, all three of them scrambling for their phones and holding them up to take video. He waited a bit while Sansa built up the accompaniment, then jumped in with the melody while she continued to play. Sansa grinned at him, cheeks slightly flushed from the exertion and the thrill of what they were doing, and his expression mirrored hers as they danced across the keys, creating the music that both of their hearts always beat along to. And then she was playing the melody right along with him, and they were perfectly in sync, just as they always were, right down to the final notes of the song, and he pulled her into his arms and kissed her as applause rang out from the crowd that had gathered to watch.

When they broke apart, Petyr and Sansa turned to not only see Arya, Robb, and Jeyne, and numerous strangers, but the rest of her family as well. And even Ned was smiling and clapping, forgetting, for the moment at least, his former displeasure. Sansa was beaming, and Petyr was too, her joy infectious, and when they finally left the store everyone was in bright spirits, chattering happily as they climbed into the limo.

They went straight to the restaurant Sansa had picked out for lunch, where Olenna, Varys, Margaery and Loras were waiting for them in the lobby. Petyr had called ahead for reservations, but apparently, due to the size of their party, it was taking awhile for the waitstaff to rearrange the tables suitably. The Starks filed in after Petyr and Sansa, and everyone stood around awkwardly for a few moments, many requiring introductions, and those rare few who didn’t all too aware of a less than pleasant past with one another. 

Petyr cleared his throat. “Olenna, you remember Cat.” He paused. “And Ned.”

Olenna nodded stiffly. “That I do,” she said, barely glancing at Sansa’s parents before her eyes traveled over the rest of the Starks. “And you must be their children,” she continued, voice gaining warmth as she spoke. “Welcome to Manhattan. I trust you’ve been enjoying the city so far?”

“We have,” said Cat hesitantly. “We’re so grateful that Sansa invited us up here, to spend Christmas with all of you.” She paused. “These are my children, Arya, Rickon, Bran, and Robb, and that’s Robb’s fiancee, Jeyne Westerling.”

“It’s wonderful to meet you all,” Olenna said, smiling at each of them in turn (except for Ned and Cat). She gestured towards Varys. “This is my other son, Varys. And these are my two grandchildren, Margaery and Loras.”

“Margaery and I were roommates in college,” Sansa explained. “And she and Loras and I all grew pretty close. It is through them that I was considered for the position as Olenna’s physical therapist. A fortune that I will forever be grateful for,” she added, gifting Petyr with a sweet smile.

“You’re not the only one, chickadee,” Olenna assured her. 

Another awkward silence settled over them before the hostess arrived to inform them that their table was finally ready. They all settled in around the long table, the division between their two families easily discernible, Starks at one end and Tyrells at the other, with Petyr and Sansa caught in the middle. The balance was in the Stark’s favor number wise, but Petyr knew Olenna and Varys, and even Margaery could hold their own if need be, so he wasn’t worried. Everyone was quiet for a time as they perused the menus, trying to decide what they wanted to eat for lunch, and for awhile the awkwardness subsided in favor of the internal battle each was caught up in that concerned only the food and not the company.

But when they’d all ordered and were forced to give up their menus, they no longer had something easy with which to occupy their minds, nor something they could hide their gazes behind. Beneath the table, Sansa was gripping Petyr’s hand in a manner that wasn’t entirely comfortable, and he kept tracing her skin with his thumb, trying to get her to relax. 

“So, what have you all been up to thus far this morning?” Varys inquired.

“We went to see the Empire State Building,” Arya offered boldly, never one to be held back by shyness, or by the awkwardness pervading the rest of the table.

Olenna nodded. “Good. No trip to the city would be complete without it. The views are incomparable.”

“And Sansa and Petyr put on a little show for everyone at the toy store,” Rickon chipped in. “Though I don’t know what song they were playing.”

Bran gave his brother an incredulous look. “How could you not? It was Heart and Soul!”

Rickon shrugged. “They were recreating that scene from ‘Big,’” Robb told him. “You know, with Tom Hanks?”

“Really?” asked Margaery, sounding excited. “Please tell me one of you caught that on video!”

“Several of us did,” Robb assured her. 

Beside him, Jeyne was rifling through her purse. She pulled out her phone and tapped at the screen a few times before handing it to Robb. “Here. Pass it down so they all can see it.”

Margaery took the phone eagerly and held it out so Olenna, Loras and Varys could see it, then pushed play. Everyone was quiet while the video played, many of Sansa’s siblings eating the free bread while they waited for it to finish.

“Still remember those piano lessons, I see,” Olenna said proudly, her gaze directed at Petyr before she turned to Sansa. “And you can play as well. What a lovely surprise.”

“I taught her,” Cat said quietly. “I always loved those lessons I had with you, growing up. And I wanted to give that same experience to my little girl.” She paused, then laughed lightly. “Of course Sansa was the only one with the patience to learn. No one else got past the first few lessons.”

Olenna nodded. “It was like that with Mace. He hated the piano, and had little talent for it besides. Luckily Varys and Petyr were much more cooperative.” 

“I was so sorry to hear it, when he died. And Luthor and Alerie too. I cannot imagine your pain,” said Cat tentatively.

“No, you cannot,” said Olenna heavily. “It took a long time before any of us were capable of functioning again. But we made it through it. Our family is strong, and we’re not strangers to hardship, as you well know.” Olenna’s tone turned sharp as she finished speaking, gaining a bite to it that did not go unnoticed. 

Cat shrank back in her chair and went quiet again, and Sansa, whose grip had loosened on Petyr’s hand, tightened her fingers once more. Petyr fought back an urge to sigh, not blaming his mother in the slightest for turning the mood sour again. Olenna had built up years of resentment against Cat and Ned, just as he had, and it had to come out somehow. He was just thankful she was reining it in as well as she was. Normally she did away with such subtleties and dove right into the heart of the matter. But she was trying to temper her usually blunt manner, for Sansa’s sake, and his. 

It likely wouldn’t last, but he appreciated the effort nonetheless.

Deciding he’d better do something to derail the current topic, he spoke, injecting his voice with false cheer. “We’re going to Rockefeller Center after lunch, to see the tree and go ice skating until the party tonight.”

“Ooh, it’s a real beauty this year,” said Margaery, catching on to his attempt to steer the conversation towards something safer. “You’re all gonna love it.”

“You’re going ice skating?” Varys asked him, sounding skeptical.

“Yes,” said Sansa firmly, “he is. And he’s going to love it.”

Loras snorted. “Last time Petyr ice skated I think it was my eighth birthday party. Margaery was only six and I think he spent more time sitting on the ice than she did.”

“Really?” Sansa asked, turning to Petyr. “But you’re such a good dancer.”

Petyr shrugged. “I don’t know what it is. The ice in general hates me.” It was true. He never could remain upright on the ice for long, ice skates or not. It was bound to be a miserable afternoon, with countless bruises to show for it, but he was willing to suffer through it for Sansa. Hell, he’d probably even enjoy it, so long as she was with him.

“Well, you know, we don’t have to go skating,” Sansa said uncertainly.

“No, it’s fine,” Petyr assured her. “I’ll be alright.”

“No he won’t. But at least every time he falls the cold will numb his bruises,” Varys quipped.

“Thanks,” said Petyr dryly.

“Now this I gotta see,” said Arya, sounding delighted.

The rest of the lunch passed by in a similar manner, the two families uniting over poking fun at Petyr and Sansa as material presented itself, all done in good humor. Ned and Cat wisely refrained from joining in on teasing Petyr, but they had fun regaling the table with tales of Sansa playing soccer when she was young. Apparently she’d chosen to wander around and pick flowers rather than follow the progress of the ball, until one day the ball strayed across her path and, annoyed, she picked it up and hurled it away from her, only to accidentally hit the referee in the face. Petyr also learned of Sansa’s misadventures in tee ball, where she refused to do anything more than lightly knock the ball off the tee, and burst into tears when they made her slide into second base and she got her clean white uniform all dirty. Needless to say, except for skiing, sports weren’t in the cards for Sansa. 

Eventually the topic turned to the LASE Christmas party they would be going to that evening, and the families again united over a common cause: their hatred of Joffrey.

“So will any of you be joining us at Rockefeller Center?” Jeyne asked.

Varys shook his head. “I’m hosting a Christmas party for work tonight, and, truth be told, the only one worse at ice skating than Petyr is yours truly. I’ve only been once, whereupon I knocked out a couple of teeth (thankfully baby teeth), but really, once was enough.”

“Were my hip to allow it, I’d join you in a heartbeat, but, sadly, if I cannot even walk without my cane, I can hardly go skating,” Olenna said regretfully. “But do enjoy yourselves.”

“I would, but I’m afraid I’ve left my shopping far too late again this year,” said Margaery, mouth tilting apologetically. “I swear it always goes by so fast.”

There was murmur of agreement, quickly followed by a brief silence as everyone thought about the passage of time, and the way it fled so quickly when you least wanted it to.

Then Loras spoke, breaking the spell. “I’ll pass, but I’ll see you at the party afterwards. Renly’s always strong armed by Robert into attending, even though he hasn’t worked for LASE in years, so he’s asked me to go with him and help be a buffer against all of the insufferables.”

Arya sat up straighter in her seat. “Like who?”

“Basically the entire Lannister/Baratheon family,” said Loras. He paused. “Excepting Myrcella and Tommen. And Tyrion’s alright.”

“Robert’s a good man,” Ned protested.

Loras seemed ready to refute that statement, but Petyr quickly intervened. “Mainly, I think everyone will want to avoid Joffrey and Cersei. Jaime too, but he’s pretty harmless when not with his sister.”

Arya groaned. “Ugh, so Joffrey’s going to be there?”

“He works at LASE, and it’s his father and grandfather’s company,” Sansa reminded her. 

“Still, I’m surprised he’d go to something like that,” Bran said.

“Normally he wouldn’t,” Sansa admitted. “But he’s obligated to be there. His mother and grandfather wouldn’t allow otherwise.”

“Luckily Sansa will have Petyr and her whole family behind her in case he decides to cause trouble,” Olenna said.

“I hope he does something,” Arya said, rubbing her hands together with a wicked glint in her eyes. “Just so I’ll have an excuse to shove him face first into a toilet.”

“Arya!” Cat said, appalled. She shot a stern gaze around the table at her children. “No one is doing anything of the sort.” She turned to Ned. “Especially not you. If Joffrey tries anything, we’ll simply gather our things and leave.”

Robb began to protest but Cat shook her head. “No. We’re not stooping to his level. And you’re not getting yourselves thrown out of a party, or worse, arrested. Am I understood?” she asked, gaze steely.

The Starks nodded, and went back to their food, subdued. Petyr admired Cat’s resolve, but he doubted it would do any good. If Joffrey tried anything, or really, even attempted to speak to Sansa, there would be hell to pay. And, if Petyr was being honest with himself, he’d be among the forefront seeking retribution. It was against his better judgement to even take Sansa to the party. They’d been spared of Joffrey at the charity gala, and he didn’t think they’d be so lucky twice. And though it had been months and months since Sansa had ended their engagement, Petyr knew Joffrey was still harboring a grudge. Something was bound to happen, and Petyr didn’t think he’d be all too eager to hold Ned and the others back. 

Nor was he certain he wouldn’t do something himself.

The evening was going to be a night to remember. They could count on it.

 

[ The piano scene from Big ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=25CtoSJD9eo)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A couple of notes:
> 
> I just had to include the scene from Big. It was too perfect not to use :)
> 
> I decided to make Petyr bad at ice skating because I wanted to reflect how he's out of his element in winter/snow/colder climate, like in canon. And this was a good way to do it in a modern AU set in NYC :)
> 
> Finally, drama is coming, as promised, but it won't be quite what you're expecting. I still think you're going to like it though. There will be a tiny bit in the next chapter, and then 49 is a big one ;).


	48. Chapter 48

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Skating at Rockefeller Center, then the LASE Christmas party

The lunch with the Tyrells and her own family had gone considerably better than Sansa had expected. She had known Olenna would have trouble interacting with her parents, still angry about what happened to Petyr, but the older woman had held her tongue for the most part, exercising restraint in favor of keeping the peace. Sansa was grateful for it. With her father already struggling to deal with Sansa sleeping in the same bed as Petyr (just sleeping. Honestly, Ned could have caught them in a far worse position than he had…), and the likely disastrous LASE Christmas party coming up, it was nice to have something go fairly smoothly.

She doubted anything else would.

After lunch, the Starks and the Tyrells parted once more (save for Petyr), and while the Tyrells scattered, the Starks all went to Rockefeller Center. The tree was gorgeous, as always, and they spent a few minutes admiring it before they rented skates and went out onto the ice. Sansa hadn’t been ice skating in years, but she’d been often enough as a child. Her family had often gone to a nearby pond that froze over every winter, and, while everyone else (save for her mother) played ice hockey, Sansa had always skated around at one end, practicing figure eights and dreaming of becoming a professional ice skater. Of course, occasionally the hockey game would disrupt those perfect little fantasies, most notably when an errant puck had struck her unawares, leaving a terrific bruise across her cheek. But for the most part she was able to skate undisturbed.

Luckily, no one in her family was able to do anything more than skate today, so Sansa was spared from flying projectiles. Unfortunately, Petyr’s family hadn’t been exaggerating when they’d said he couldn’t skate, so she still wound up with a bruised elbow when he fell and accidentally pulled her down with him. He’d looked so sheepish though, sitting there on the ice, that she couldn’t help but laugh it off, grinning as she helped him back to his feet. 

Her family kept whizzing by as Sansa skated around the rink at a much slower pace than she was used to, Petyr struggling just to keep his balance beside her, but aside from a few jokes they didn’t rag on Petyr too much for his lack of skill. Sansa enjoyed seeing him out of his element, and poking fun at his ineptitude, which she rarely got to do (he really was far too talented, in so many areas. It simply wasn’t fair. She liked having the upper hand for once). And though he wiped out more than once, they had a good time, laughing as snowflakes caught in their hair and melted on their cheeks. One landed on her nose at one point, and he’d pulled her close, kissing right on its tip where the flake had fallen, before capturing her lips. 

It would have been a very romantic moment had he not lost his balance soon after, pulling her down with him and bruising her elbow in the process. 

But still, Sansa treasured it. And Arya had even caught the whole thing on camera (she’d been taping Petyr off and on, trying to record him falling. Of course, she was less than pleased to have recorded the kiss, but the fact that they’d fallen soon afterward had more than made up for it).

Far sooner than Sansa would have liked, they were piling back into the limo and heading back to Petyr’s apartment, cheeks still flushed from the cold. There was still awhile before they had to be at the party, but Sansa needed time to get ready, as did her mother, and Jeyne too. The rest didn’t put nearly as much effort into looking nice, Robb, Bran, Rickon, Arya, and their father only changing and combing their hair. Petyr took a bit longer than Sansa’s siblings and father, but he still didn’t require as much time as Sansa did.

She took a quick shower and dried her hair, styling it with care before she applied her makeup and slipped on the dress she’d bought specifically for the party. The dress was dark blue, long sleeved and fitted, with an off the shoulder neckline and a fine layer of lace detailing over the stretchy fabric. Margaery had helped her pick it out a week ago, knowing how important it was to Sansa that she looked her best tonight. She would be seeing Cersei and Joffrey again for the first time since the charity gala over the summer, and though Sansa had lucked out during the gala and had not been forced to interact with Joffrey, she doubted she would be so lucky again.

Of course, she wasn’t dressing for his benefit. She no longer cared what Joffrey or Cersei thought. They would think badly of Sansa regardless of how good she looked or how polite she was. 

No, she took pride in her appearance, and dressing nice always gave her an extra boost of confidence. The better she thought she looked, the better she felt while dealing with unpleasant company or tasks. Politeness had always been her armour against her foes, but so too was her wardrobe. She gained strength in the knowledge that she looked her best, and, above all, she knew that while they could fault her for many things, looking unkempt wasn’t one of them. Her dress was beautiful and intricately woven, and so too was she.

Petyr found her in the master bathroom, putting the final touches on her makeup, and smiled, slipping behind her, his hands finding her waist. “You’re looking rather lovely tonight,” he murmured.

“Only tonight?” she asked, leaning back against his chest, tilting her head to look at him

“Always,” he assured her, giving her a quick peck on the lips.

Sansa smiled, turning around fully and reaching up with her thumb to remove a bit of lip stain that had transferred onto his lips. “Is everyone else ready then?”

He nodded. “And more than a little antsy. I don’t think most of them want to go, and Rickon and Arya are more than a little disgruntled at having to dress up.”

She sighed. “Honestly, I don’t want to go either, but Dad doesn’t want to let Robert down.” She paused. “Of course, I am grateful that now you don’t have to go alone.”

“Believe me, I don’t want to go any more than you do. And while I am grateful that I don’t have to suffer through it alone, I would rather have spared you of tonight,” he told her softly.

Sansa smiled. “I know.” She wanted to kiss him again, but then she’d certainly have to fix her makeup, and they were running short on time as it was. Instead, she settled with hugging him close for a few moments, resting her cheek up against his as she felt their hearts quicken as one. 

She might have lingered in his embrace were it not for Arya, who had apparently invited herself inside Petyr’s bedroom and was now making fake retching noises as she stood outside the bathroom.

“A little privacy would be nice,” Sansa said to her sister as she stepped back, annoyed.

Arya shrugged. “You didn’t lock the door, so I figured I didn’t have to worry.”

“Even so,” Sansa insisted. “You shouldn’t go into people’s bedrooms without  **_knocking_ ** , at the very least.”

Arya rolled her eyes. “Whatever.” She paused. “Anyway, Dad’s wondering what the hold up is.”

Sansa sighed. “Right.” She blew out a breath of air, steadying herself, then quickly checked her reflection in the mirror one last time. “I’m ready, I guess. Let’s go.”

“You sure?” Arya asked skeptically. “You don’t look so good.” Sansa gave her a look, and Arya quickly amended. “You look stressed, I mean.”

“Probably because I am.”

Petyr slipped his arm around Sansa’s waist and pulled her close, dropping a kiss on her temple. “It’ll be fine,” he assured her. “There will be a lot of people there, we might not even see Cersei or Joffrey.”

“You’re just saying that to make me feel better,” she said, leaning into his shoulder.

He chuckled, lips still lingering at her temple, his breath stirring her hair. “You never know. Everything could work out. Just as it did at the charity event this summer. Don’t you remember how you handled Cersei that night?”

Sansa brightened. She did. It had felt so wonderful, to gain the upper hand on Cersei for once.

“What happened?” Arya asked curiously, momentarily forgetting that she was supposed to be pretending to be disgusted at their shows of affection for one another.

“It was beautiful. Cersei did her best to cut Sansa down, but Sansa rose above her and left her speechless,” Petyr told Arya.

Sansa smiled at him. “And then we showed everyone up, dancing the tango.”

Arya rolled her eyes. “Only  **_you_ ** would think that you won by dancing.”

“We did,” Petyr assured her. “That dance was all anyone talked about afterwards. It quite overshadowed the event, and all of Cersei’s efforts. Which of course she was furious about.”

“Well, I suppose that’s not too bad. But if I get the chance to one up Cersei or Joffrey, you can be sure I won’t do something lame like dancing the tango,” Arya said. “Now come on, both of you, or Dad’s going to have a coronary.”

 

* * *

 

The party was in full swing when they arrived. Instead of hosting it at the Red Keep, where LASE’s central offices were located, Cersei had rented the ballroom of a five star hotel, sparing no expense in either the venue, the decor, or the food. Sansa well remembered the woman’s need to flaunt her wealth, and that of the company’s, and company events gave Cersei the perfect opportunity to do so. A dozen Christmas trees were scattered around the room, all brightly lit and hung with crystal ornamentation that reflected the lights and tinkled as passerby tread nearby. Gold pillars were wound with velvet red ribbon, tied at the top in large bows stiffened with wires, the colors reminding everyone not only of Christmas, but of the Lannisters who held their employees’ livelihoods in their hands.

A grand piano stood at one end of the room, a well dressed man tickling the ivories as a woman in an evening gown crooned Christmas carols into the mic. Everyone was milling about, winding through tables draped in white tablecloths, the tables both squat and tall to allow either seated or standing conversation. Waitstaff dressed in black tie wove through the crowds, offering trays of hors d'oeuvres, and relieving guests of empty glasses. A fully stocked bar invited a thick conglomeration of people, the bartenders behind it struggling to keep up with their patron’s wishes.

Sansa easily spotted Tyrion in their midst, perched on one of the stools at one end, Shae by his side. But, thankfully, he was the only person she easily recognized, at least at first. Her family fidgeted around her, not mingling but rather staying in a clump, clearly out of their element. Though Bran, Rickon, and Arya had no qualms about taking any food they were offered, or flagging down passing waitstaff to taste their wares. Her father stood by her mother, neck craned as he searched for Robert.

Only Petyr seemed relaxed, but of course he probably knew most everyone in attendance, and he was good at this sort of thing, besides. Sansa took comfort in his calm demeanor, the tension leaving her shoulders as his hand found the small of her back, guiding her onwards as her family migrated through the room like a pack of wolves following their alpha. 

After about fifteen minutes of fruitless searching, her father gave up, shoulders slumping. “I don’t see him.”

“Oh, Robert rarely shows up on time to these things,” Petyr said. “But he’ll be here, else he’ll risk Cersei’s wrath.” He paused. “I do see Stannis over there, with his wife, Selyse.”

Ned turned to look where Petyr had indicated. “Ah no, he looks otherwise engaged at the moment,” he said hastily.

Petyr smirked. “Hardly, but I gather your point. At any rate, it seems you’ve been spared.” He nodded at the entrance, where Robert Baratheon had just ambled into the room, his suit reaching its limit as it stretched over his ample midsection.

Ned brightened and hurried off to meet his friend, Cat trailing halfheartedly in his wake, along with Robb and Jeyne. Arya, Bran and Rickon seemed to have no inclination to follow them and greet Robert, too interested in sampling the food, and Sansa held back, not wanting to see Robert either, but knowing she probably should. Petyr waited while she made up her mind, then, seeing the resolved look on her face, guided her over to where her parents, Robb, and Jeyne were talking with Robert.

Robert let out a loud guffaw at something Ned said, his face already reddened with drink, perspiration dotting his brow. He swept a hand across his forehead, still chuckling, then caught sight of Sansa and Petyr as they drew near. “Baelish! Glad you could make it.” His eyes raked over Sansa. “You know, if it weren’t for the fact that I’ve seen the two of you together with my own eyes, I’m not sure I would have believed it. Of course, I barely remember that night, in truth. Had to drink even more than usual, just to drown out Cersei’s rantings about the whole matter.” 

Ned shifted uncomfortably, while Cat trained her eyes on the floor by her feet. “And then later, completely out of the blue, I get a phone call from Sansa, telling me Petyr’s too sick to come into work,” Robert continued, not noticing their discomfort. “Though I still suspect that something else was afoot,” he added, winking at Petyr.

“Ah, if only,” Petyr replied. “Instead I wound up in the hospital and spent a week off of work, recovering from Legionnaires’ Disease.”

“You keep saying that, but I’ve never known you to take a sick day before.” Robert shook his head, still grinning. “No, I know what you’re all about.” He caught sight of Ned’s reddened face, his grin slipping as he obviously realized that they were speaking of Ned’s daughter, then quickly amended, “Of course, there’s a first time for everything.” He cleared his throat. “Good to see you again, Sansa. Glad to see my idiot son hasn’t kept you down for long.”

Sansa forced a smile. “Thanks for inviting all of us tonight. I know my Dad was really looking forward to seeing you again.”

Robert chuckled, turning back to Ned. “It’s been too long, hasn’t it? I was happy to invite you, though the gods know I’m paying for it.”

Cat frowned. “Why?”

“Oh, it’s nothing.” Robert waved his hand dismissively. “Just a little family spat, division in the company. Nothing I can’t handle.”

Ned’s eyes flashed in understanding. “Perhaps we shouldn’t have come. I wouldn’t want to be any trouble,” he began.

“Oh, don’t you worry about it. I’m still allowed to have a say in this company, more so than others, and if I want you here, then you’re going to be here, end of story,” Robert insisted. “My shrew of a wife can’t always get her way.”

Everyone laughed uncomfortably along with Robert as he let out another boisterous laugh, and then Sansa felt her insides run cold as another laugh joined theirs, and Cersei swept into their midst. “Eddard and Catelyn Stark! Simply lovely to see you again,” she purred, smile rictus as she surveyed them, eyes barely concealing their distaste. “And Sansa, dear, it’s been far too long. Tell me, how have you been?”

Sansa tried not to let her eyes linger on the wine staining Cersei’s teeth as she forced another smile. “Better than ever, actually. And you?”

Cersei’s eyes narrowed, ever so slightly. “Good to hear. I really was so worried about you after Joffrey ended your engagement.”

Robb coughed, and Sansa felt Petyr’s hand, still upon the small of her back, clench into a fist. “Funny, I’ve never heard so much as a word from you,” Sansa said. “Except behind my back, of course,” she added, relishing the sight of Cersei’s lip curling. “As for who ended the engagement, you’re welcome to keep spreading that lie in your favor, but we both know the truth.”

Cersei licked her lips. “I had hoped we’d put this little unpleasantness behind us.”

“Oh, I have,” Sansa assured her. “I’m just not going to indulge your false pleasantries. Don’t pretend to be something you’re not, and we’ll do just fine.”

Cersei’s eyes flashed, a snarl curling her lips, but before she could unleash her retort, Petyr spoke. “The whole company is gathered here tonight, and, once again, you have photographers recording every moment. Best not do anything you might regret. Santa might not be watching, but everyone else certainly is.” His tone was light, its measure carefully softening the warning so as not to provoke Cersei further. 

Sansa watched as Cersei’s eyes darted around the room, her hackles slowly lowering, and then she turned and left, snatching a half empty wine glass off of a waiter’s tray as she passed, and downing its contents in one gulp. Everyone watched her go, then turned back to face one another, expressions awkward.

“Well, on that shining note, I think we all could use a drink, yes?” Petyr said, injecting false cheer into his voice. 

Robert clapped him on the shoulder. “That’s the best idea I’ve heard all night.”

They all headed straight for the bar, instantly gaining one of the bartenders’ attentions due to the head of the company in their party, and soon they were all supplied with drinks, beer for Robert, Ned, and Robb, champagne for Jeyne, and wine for Cat, Sansa, and Petyr. They all sipped contemplatively for a few moments, gathering their thoughts, and then Robert recalled the first time he’d ever had beer, in Ned’s company, and the two began reminiscing about old times. Cat stood dutifully by Ned’s side, nodding and smiling, but Jeyne whispered in Robb’s ear and they soon departed for the restrooms. Meanwhile, Sansa, spying Tyrion still perched on his stool at the bar, nudged Petyr and silently directed his attention to their friend, and they abandoned her parents and Robert in search of easier company.

“Sansa!” Tyrion greeted her jovially, raising his glass. “So good to see you!”

“What, I don’t get a greeting?” Petyr asked, leaning casually against the bar as he signaled for more wine.

“Nope, only those worthy enjoy the fruits of my good cheer,” said Tyrion, finishing the last of his wine and taking the bottle the bartender had brought for Petyr, sloshing some into his own glass before passing it back.

“That wasn’t meant for you,” Shae scolded him.

Tyrion grinned. “Petyr doesn’t mind.”

Petyr shrugged. “Hey, it’s open bar.”

“See,” said Tyrion.

Shae rolled her eyes at him, but she was smiling. “How are you two doing?” she asked. 

Sansa exchanged looks with Petyr and Tyrion snorted. “That bad, huh? I thought you two seemed rather cozy, last we were together.”

“No, it’s not that,” Sansa said. “We’re fine.”   


“More than fine,” Petyr interjected.

“More than fine,” she agreed. “It’s just my family’s here, visiting for the holidays, and that’s hard enough without dealing with... certain people.”

Tyrion snorted again. “You don’t have to sugarcoat it. We all know you mean my sweet sister and her intolerable son.”

“Shh,” Shae hissed. “Lower your voice. Anyone could hear you.”

“Let them,” Tyrion declared. “My disdain for Cersei and Joffrey is quite well known, I assure you. Even Cersei and Joffrey are well aware of it.”

Petyr chuckled. “And that’s no small feat, for Joffrey.”

Sansa choked on her wine. “Honestly, it’s like you both want to get fired. Keep your voices down,” she insisted.

“Sweetling, no one can hear us that cares in the slightest for the content of our conversation,” Petyr told her.

“How do you know? Just because Cersei’s not here doesn’t mean she doesn’t have ears here. She could have informants,” Sansa shot back.

“Oh she does, but none of them are lingering around the bar at present,” said Petyr pointedly. “And anyway, besides the two of us, your parents, and Shae, everyone else here is sauced off their asses.”

“I notice you left out my name,” said Tyrion, reaching for the wine bottle again.

“As he should have,” said Shae, snatching up the wine bottle and moving it out of reach. “The night is still early, and you’re already slashed.”

“I think you mean sloshed,” said Tyrion helpfully.

“Whatever,” said Shae, sounding exasperated. “I think you need to slow down, take a break.”

Tyrion furrowed his brow. “Perhaps you’re right.” He set down his glass and hopped down from his stool. “A trip to the lavatory and then it’s back to what I know best.”

Shae groaned. “If you mean drinking, then we’re going to have a problem.”

Tyrion just shrugged and flashed her an impish grin before turning and heading for the restrooms. Shae flashed both Sansa and Petyr an apologetic look, then followed him, picking up their argument where they’d left off. Sansa shook her head, smiling as she watched them go, until she caught sight of two people standing under the mistletoe nearby and frowned.

Myrcella Baratheon was there, which was no surprise, as she had family from both sides of the two companies that had merged to create LASE. But what took Sansa aback was the girl with her, laughing heartily at something Myrcella had said. 

It was Margaery.

Feeling confused, and wondering why Margaery hadn’t told her that she’d be attending the party tonight, Sansa watched the pair, eyes widening as Myrcella noticed the mistletoe she was standing under and pointed it out to Margaery. Both girls laughed again, then grinned and Myrcella leaned in and kissed Margaery, slipping her arms around Margaery’s neck.

Shocked, Sansa turned to draw Petyr’s attention to Margaery and Myrcella, who were still kissing, but he had already seen. He didn’t look surprised.

“You knew?” she asked, unable to keep the hurt from coloring her voice.

Petyr shook his head. “Not exactly.”

She frowned at him, her lower lip sticking out in an unmistakable pout. “How not exactly?”

“Just…” he trailed off. “It’s just something Olyvar said, back on Halloween. He was complaining that he and Ros were the only single people there, and I reminded him that Margaery and Myrcella were single too, and he just gave me a look, like ‘uh huh.’” 

Sansa bit her lip. “Why didn’t you say something before?”

Petyr shrugged. “I honestly forgot about it until now. There were other, more pressing matters, if you remember.”

Placated, she turned to check on Margaery and Myrcella again, but the girls had vanished. Sansa’s heart sank. Were they dating? But why hadn’t Margaery said anything? And why would she come to the party, and not tell Sansa?

Did Margaery not trust that Sansa would be okay with it? Did Margaery really think Sansa would mind?

Feeling hurt that her friend hadn’t confided in her, Sansa stared at her hands, fighting against a sudden urge to cry.

Petyr’s hand found her chin, tilting it so that her gaze met his. “I wouldn’t read too much into it, my love. If they are indeed seeing each other, none of us knew.”

She could hear the sense in his words, and yet still her lip quivered. With all of the stress of the last few days, this was just one matter too much. Noticing that she was barely holding it together, Petyr quickly set his wineglass aside and guided her away from the bar, into a more private alcove, their presence hidden by one of the Christmas trees. Sansa slipped into his embrace and closed her eyes, letting the beat of his heart and the feel of his arms around her steady her mind once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is a big one! The party goes south, and, hopefully, it won't be quite what you think ;)
> 
> Also, a note: Sansa isn't upset that Margaery and Myrcella are dating, but that Margaery didn't trust her enough to confide in her. I tried to treat the subject with respect, and you'll read more about how both Sansa and Margaery feel in the next few chapters. The drama coming isn't between Sansa and Margaery, though they do need to have a talk.


	49. Chapter 49

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shit hits the fan (so to speak). Enjoy :)

Petyr didn’t speak as he held Sansa, concealed behind one of the twelve Christmas trees spaced around the ballroom at the LASE company Christmas party. He suspected she just needed time to process everything. So much had happened, just in the last twenty-four hours, and he wasn’t surprised that she was overwhelmed. 

They’d both expected things would be difficult. Their families were mingling together for the first time in years for some, and the first time ever for others. And the mutual pasts that some of them shared were bound to make things uncomfortable. Add to that dealing with the Lannisters and the Baratheons, with whom some of them also shared troubled and complicated pasts, and it was a recipe for disaster if there ever was one.

But neither Petyr nor Sansa had ever thought that Margaery would give them any cause for consternation. Margaery was always so kind and thoughtful, and very good at keeping the peace, and they’d figured that of anyone, Margaery would be the least likely to make things more difficult. And perhaps that was why Margaery hadn’t told them she was dating Myrcella (if indeed she was). She didn’t want to hurt anyone, or make things any harder than they already were.

Of course, Petyr was certain that Margaery hadn’t hidden her relationship with Myrcella from them because they were both women. No one in his family was against same-sex relationships (after all, Loras had been out for years, and was currently involved in a very happy and well supported relationship with Renly). In fact, as dysfunctional as his family might be sometimes, everyone was incredibly open-minded and supportive. And Sansa was of a similar mindset. So Margaery had no need to keep things quiet on those grounds, unless of course she was still coming to terms with her sexuality, which he supposed was possible.

Still, he thought there might be another reason Margaery hadn’t said anything, and he was sure Sansa was thinking the same thing. Myrcella was Joffrey’s sister, after all, and Margaery hadn’t even said she was friends with Myrcella until October, though they’d apparently started talking over the summer. Sansa hadn’t talked with Margaery about it, other than to agree to let Margaery invite Myrcella to their Halloween party, but she’d talked with him about it at length. She hadn’t seemed bothered at the time, just happy that Margaery had told her, and fine with Myrcella coming (after all, Myrcella was nothing like Joffrey).

But this time it was different. Sansa was already stressed out, and now she was hurt that Margaery hadn’t trusted her enough to confide in her. Especially after Sansa had already basically given her blessing for their friendship. 

Petyr didn’t blame Margaery. He understood that she was just nervous to tell Sansa, that she was afraid Sansa would think of it as a betrayal. But it had clearly backfired, and now Sansa was hurt that Margaery would even assume Sansa would think that way.

Although, he didn’t understand why Margaery hadn’t at least told Sansa she’d be at the party tonight. Margaery had to have known they would see her there….

Finally regaining her composure, Sansa straightened in his arms, arranging her expression carefully in a valiant effort to pretend everything was fine. He brushed her hair back from her face and smiled. “Have I told you yet how beautiful you look tonight?”

She smiled back at him, though it wavered slightly. “Hmm, I don’t think so,” she teased.

“How ungentlemanly of me. I shall correct that at once. You truly look stunning, my love.”

She laughed softly, her eyes regaining some of their spark, and he leaned in and kissed her, not caring if he wound up wearing lip stain because of it for the rest of the evening. Sansa hummed in approval, curling her fingers in his suit jacket as she tugged him closer. His tongue had just breached the part in her lips when he heard the sound of someone clearing their throat and pulled away to see Loras and Renly grinning at him.

“So this is why we haven’t seen you yet tonight,” said Renly. “Too busy making out behind the Christmas trees to mingle with the rest of us.”

“I don’t know, I kind of think they have the right idea,” said Loras conversationally. “I mean, I’d rather be doing that than talking to your brothers.”

“You’d rather be doing  **_anything_ ** than talking to Stannis or Robert,” said Renly.

“True, but tongueing in secret behind a Christmas tree would certainly be a far pleasanter way to pass the evening.”

“Agreed.” Renly’s grin widened. “What do you say? Can we steal your hiding place for a bit?”

“No,” Petyr told him. “Go get your own.”

“Now that’s not very in tune with the Christmas spirit,” Loras commented.

Sansa laughed. Petyr smirked. “Too bad.”

“Well someone’s getting coal in his stocking,” said Renly, pouting.

Petyr shrugged. “Some of us don’t rely on Santa for happiness.”

“No, they rely on  **_Sansa_ ** ,” returned Renly cheekily.

Sansa giggled again, her cheeks flushing red.

“Exactly, so if you don’t mind….” Petyr quirked his eyebrows at his nephew.

Loras shook his head. “Nuh uh. If we have to suffer through this party, then so do you.”

Petyr sighed. “Look, I know what it looks like, but we honestly didn’t come back here to-”

“Suck face?” asked Renly.

“Play tongue twister?” supplied Loras.

Petyr rolled his eyes. “Seriously. We’ve been making the rounds at the party, it’s just things have been more than a little stressful, and we needed to take a breather.”

Both Renly and Loras’ expressions sobered. “Oh,” said Loras. He looked at Sansa, who hadn’t done more than laugh and blush, unusually quiet. “Everything alright?”

She bit her lip. “No, not really.”   


“What’s wrong?” asked Renly.

Sansa looked conflicted. “I really shouldn’t say….”

Loras frowned, confused. “Why not?”

“Because it involves Margaery,” Petyr said, deciding he’d take the blame for revealing Margaery’s secret, and spare Sansa of it.

Loras furrowed his brow. “Well, in a room full of Baratheons, Lannisters, and Sansa’s family, that’s not what I was expecting to hear, that’s for sure.”

“She’s here,” Sansa said, staring down at her hands. “At the party.”

“She is?” Loras turned to peer out from behind the Christmas tree, searching for his sister. “Where? Why?”

“We don’t know exactly, but she was with Myrcella,” said Petyr. “And the two of them looked pretty close,” he added, hoping that Loras and Renly would gather what he meant without having to spell it out further. It really wasn’t his secret to share. He respected his niece enough to tread carefully, even around family.

“Ohhh,” said Renly. 

Loras turned back around. “Margaery and Myrcella? But…” he trailed off, frowning. “She hasn’t said anything about it to me.”   


“Nor me,” Sansa confirmed. “And I don’t know why. Is she afraid that I’ll be upset with her for dating Joffrey’s sister?”

Loras frowned. “Maybe. Or maybe she isn’t quite sure what things are between her and Myrcella. She’s only dated men before, you know.”

“Either way, I wish she would have told me,” said Sansa softly.

“Same.” Loras sighed. “But I don’t think she meant to hurt either of us by keeping quiet. She loves you Sans, you know that.”

Sansa tried to smile, but her expression had turned brittle, and Petyr quickly pulled her back into his arms. Renly, who had taken over for Loras in searching through the party for Margaery or Myrcella, let out a low whistle. 

“Uh oh,” he said.

“What is it?” Petyr asked.

Loras joined Renly and cursed, before immediately running off. Alarmed, Sansa pulled away from Petyr. “What’s wrong? Is it Joffrey?” she asked, tone strained. “Or my family?”

Renly turned around. “Come on, we better go see what we can do to help.”

He darted out from behind the tree and out of sight. Petyr grabbed Sansa’s hand and quickly moved to follow him, his heart filling with dread.

Renly had already disappeared in the throng of people, but it was easy enough to see where he had been headed. At the opposite side of the room, near the bar, a larger than normal crowd had gathered, and Petyr could hear the sounds of a heated argument above the dampened chatter. Petyr pushed through the packed room, helping Sansa navigate through the cluster of people, until he found the source of the spectacle.

Joffrey was yelling at his sister as their mother tried to keep them both separated. Myrcella’s dress was ripped and her face was flushed with anger, but not so much that Petyr couldn’t see the reddened edges of a fresh handprint across her cheek. Margaery stood off to the side, her face white, fists clenched, clearly uncertain about what she should do. Loras was beside her, and Renly too, and both looked ready to step in at a moment’s notice if need be.

All of the Starks were present too, and Tyrion and Shae, and Stannis and his family, though Petyr didn’t see Jaime Lannister, Cersei’s twin brother. Tywin and Robert were both absent as well, but Petyr assumed that Tywin at least would be there before long.

Petyr and Sansa went straight to Margaery, edging through the people gathered around the fight, those watching equal parts horrified and entertained. Margaery didn’t see them, eyes fixated instead on Myrcella, and neither Petyr nor Sansa tried to gain her attention, knowing it was best to wait.

“You’re disgusting!” Joffrey was roaring, spit flying as he hurled insults at his sister.

“Me!” Myrcella shrieked. “Look at yourself! I’m ashamed that you’re my brother!”

“Stop!” Cersei pleaded, tugging on Joffrey’s arm. “It’s just a phase, don’t trouble yourself over it. She’ll come to her senses soon enough.”

Joffrey wrenched his arm free, snarling at his mother. “Why are you defending her! We don’t need trash like this in our family,” he sneered, turning his gaze on Myrcella. “You’re no better than the dwarf, and that fairy I’m supposed to call uncle.” 

“If you’re referring to Uncle Tyrion and Uncle Renly, I’ll have you know that they’re two of the people I’m most proud to call family,” Myrcella retorted. 

“You’re nothing but a traitor!” growled Joffrey, taking another step towards his sister, who admirably stood her ground. “Mother told you to stop hanging around with the Tyrell girl, that she didn’t want you getting close to that family and that Stark bitch, and yet you did it anyway!”

Petyr felt Sansa stiffen beside him, then had to consciously loosen his grip on her hand, which he was squeezing so tightly he was sure he was hurting her. 

“Stop this! Please!” Cersei tried again, gingerly resting her hands on Joffrey’s shoulders. “We can settle this, just not here, alright? I promise, we’ll get this all sorted out.”

“No, we’re doing this now,” snapped Joffrey, jerking away from his mother. “I don’t care who sees. Everyone should know just where we stand and what we allow in our family.” He sniffed, wiping at his nose, then caught sight of Sansa and his eyes lit up. “Well, look who it is, the girl who thought she was too good for me, and then had to settle for robbing the  **_grave_ ** when no one else would have her.” He spat on the ground. “You always were beneath me. I never should have wasted my time on someone like you.”

Sansa let go of Petyr’s hand and crossed her arms, eyes flashing. “So that’s why you waited for  **_me_ ** to break off the engagement, then begged me to take you back?” She laughed. “Gods, Joff, you’re pathetic. Give up the ruse and just admit it. You screwed up and now you’re casting blame on everyone but yourself.  **_You’re_ ** the one who cheated on me constantly, and  **_you’re_ ** the reason everyone except your own mother hates you. I mean, gods, you’re even ruining your family’s company Christmas party! And ripping apart your own family in the process! Congratulations, if you were going for the asshole of the year award, you’ve won it by a landslide, and that’s no mean feat considering our current president.”

Joffrey’s face turned blotchy. “No one asked you, you ugly cunt!” he screamed, and started forward, fists curled with vicious intent. 

Petyr was dimly aware of the howls of rage of pretty much every member of the Stark family, along with Jeyne, Margaery, Loras, Renly, Tyrion, Shae, and even some random people from the crowd. He was aware, also, of Ned and his sons, and Arya too, all springing forward, and Renly and Loras tensing to jump to Sansa’s defense. But none of them reached Joffrey in time.

He did.

Petyr didn’t even remember removing his hand from the small of Sansa’s back, nor stepping forward or raising his fist, but he did remember feeling his fist connect with Joffrey’s face, the feel and sound of cartilage crunching, the river of blood spurting, streaming to the floor. He remembered too the look of rage and shock on Joffrey’s face, and the satisfying sound of Joffrey’s body crumpling to the floor.

A gasp swept the room and Petyr was staring down at Joffrey, who lay unconscious on the floor, blood leaking from his shattered nose. Time seemed to stop for a moment, as Petyr surveyed the damage he had done, fist still clenched and beginning to throb from the impact.

And then all hell broke loose.

People were screaming now, and Cersei’s was the loudest among them. The furious lioness flung herself at Petyr, only to be stopped by a wall of Starks. Cersei thrashed against them, trying to break through, snarling and shrieking insults meant for Petyr, for the Starks, for Sansa, and everyone else in the room but for her precious Joffrey. Sansa darted to Petyr’s side, clutching his arm, staring in horror down at Joffrey, and at Cersei too.

And then Tywin broke through the crowd, his expression thunderous, and without even a word from the man’s lips, the room fell into deathly silence. Cersei stopped struggling instantly, and the Stark men and Arya backed away from her, melding with Cat, Jeyne, Margaery, Myrcella, Loras and Renly, who had all gathered around Petyr and Sansa.

“What is the meaning of all this?” Tywin asked Cersei, voice sharp. He didn’t even spare a glance for Joffrey, who was still sprawled across the ballroom floor; instead his gaze fixated on his daughter.

Cersei immediately jabbed her finger in Petyr’s direction. “He punched Joffrey!” 

Tywin turned to look where she was pointing, and his eyebrows lifted. “Baelish?”

“Yes!” Cersei insisted. She sunk to her knees, cradling Joffrey’s head in her hands. “Someone call an ambulance!”

“Already done,” Tyrion called out. “They should be here soon.”

Tywin turned to Petyr. “Is this true?”

“Yes!” Cersei answered for him, voice shaking with rage. “He did it! Everyone saw it.”

“I did,” Petyr admitted. “And honestly, I’d do it again. It felt wonderful.”

Tywin frowned. “You do realize what this means, don’t you?”

“Oh yes,” Petyr assured him. “And before you say anything, I’ll save you the trouble. I quit.”

Beside Petyr, Sansa gave a sharp intake of breath, and she wasn’t the only one.

“Now now, let’s not be hasty,” Tywin began but Cersei interrupted him.

“You can’t quit because you’re fired,” she snarled.

“Actually, it’s in your better interest that I quit,” Petyr reminded her. “Seeing as then you don’t have to give me severance pay.”

Cersei just stared up at him, clearly confused. She was probably wondering if she should argue further, and ask why he’d be stupid enough to quit if that were indeed the case, or if she should let it be so that they wouldn’t have to pay him. And that in itself was one of the reasons he’d quit, just so he could make her feel like an idiot when she insisted that he was fired.

That and it had felt really good to quit.

And it wasn’t as if he needed the money anyway.

“You’re sure about this?” Tywin asked, frowning.

“Oh yes, I certainly am. Thanks for a thoroughly horrendous work experience. I shall cherish it forever,” Petyr told him.

“You’re not getting away with this, you know,” Cersei growled, still on the floor with Joffrey, gently wiping away the blood smeared on his lips and chin. “We’re suing you.”

“Oh no you’re not. Believe me, you do not want to go down that path,” Petyr warned her. “Your son has been wreaking havoc at my club for years. And I have plenty of evidence to prove it. Whatever charges you can bring against me, I can bring them against Joffrey, tenfold. And he won’t be getting off with simply a fine. We’re talking an extended stay in one of New York’s finest correctional facilities.  **_If_ ** he’s lucky.”

Cersei opened her mouth to make a retort, but Tywin held up his hand. “Enough. Both of you.” He turned to Petyr. “Consider your contract with LASE terminated, effective immediately. Have your office cleaned out before New Year’s.” He paused. “And, since you’re no longer an employee, I hope you don’t mind my asking you to vacate our Christmas party.”

“With pleasure.” Petyr smirked at Cersei. “Happy Holidays. I do hope Rudolph there will recover in time to pull Santa’s sleigh.”

He heard Arya snort, and felt Sansa shake slightly with restrained laughter, and then he was leading everyone outside of the hotel ballroom, smirk still firmly in place, his spirits still soaring from the thrill of knocking out Joffrey and finally quitting his insufferable job. They were silent as they left, but the moment everyone was out of earshot of the party, they burst into a flurry of noise, several of the Starks, Arya included, howling with laughter.

Sansa had eyes only for him though. “Are you okay?” she asked, voice anxious.

“Never mind me,” he told her. “What about  **_you_ ** ?”

“I’m fine,” she assured him, taking the hand he’d used to slug Joffrey and raising it to her lips, gently grazing his knuckles. “How’s your hand?”

Petyr smirked. “Better than Joffrey’s nose, that’s for sure.”

Sansa laughed, her eyes shining. “I can’t believe you punched him, right in front of everyone.”

“Neither can any of us,” Arya declared, butting into the conversation. “Who’d have thought, that of all us, you’d be the one to deck him?”

“He might not be the only one,” Ned muttered.

“Aww, you’re not disappointed, are you Ned?” Petyr couldn’t help saying, enjoying having one more thing to lord over the man.

Ned grinned good naturedly. “Of course I am, though perhaps it’s better than I wasn’t the one to do it. Robert might not have been there to see it, but I doubt our friendship would have survived such a thing. Joffrey’s still his son, after all.”

“And Sansa’s your daughter,” Petyr reminded him.

“True, but it’s one thing for our kids to have their differences. It’s quite another for one of us to get involved,” Ned said. He paused. “Even so, as much as I would hate to lose Robert’s friendship, it would have been worth it. I didn’t like hearing him talk to you that way,” he told Sansa.

Cat pulled Sansa away from Petyr and swept her up into a hug. “I’m so proud of you sunshine, for handling him the way you did.”

“You certainly put him down to size,” Renly put in. “Best company Christmas party  **_ever_ ** .”

“I’ll say,” said Arya. “Sansa owns Joffrey, and when he throws a hissy fit, Petyr delivers a smackdown.”

“That last line to Cersei was pretty great too,” Bran put in. “Way to rub it in her face.”

“Are you  **_sure_ ** you’re okay though?” Sansa asked Petyr worriedly. “I mean you just quit.”

“I’m fine. I mean, I was thinking about quitting anyway, you know that. This whole fiasco was just an extra incentive,” Petyr said, then paused, remembering how it all had started. He turned to see if Margaery and Myrcella were still with them, but both girls had disappeared.

“What’s the matter?” Sansa asked, picking up on the change in his demeanor.

“Did you see where Margaery and Myrcella went?”

Sansa frowned, her good mood immediately dissipating, but before she could say anything, Renly spoke up. “Loras noticed that they weren’t with us earlier, and went off to look for them. He said he would text if he found them.”

Petyr put his hand on Sansa’s arm, knowing from look on her face that she was close to crumbling again, the stress of the evening rearing its ugly head. “I’m sure they’re alright. Maybe they just went home. I doubt they had any inclination to stay.”

She still didn’t look convinced, so Petyr retrieved his phone from his pocket, wincing slightly as his bruised knuckles dragged against the fabric of his trousers, and quickly brought up his contacts, placing a call to Margaery’s cell. The call went straight to voicemail, so he fired off a text asking her to call him back as soon as possible and glanced up to see Sansa nearly on the verge of tears. 

“How about we stop by Varys’ place,” he suggested, hoping that maybe Margaery had gone to Olenna. “It’s still early, and he’s having his annual work party for the radio station, so there will be food and drink, plenty of good company.”

“That sounds like a lovely idea,” Cat said, noticing as he did Sansa’s struggle to hold herself together, and flashing him a rare smile for his effort.

“Sounds good,” said Robb. “And we can go over the play by play of that punch over punch,” he quipped.

His siblings groaned. “That was terrible,” Jeyne told her fiance, nudging him affectionately.

Petyr tapped out a text to the limo driver, telling him to bring the car around, then sent another text to Varys, informing him of their intentions, before slipping his phone back into his pocket and taking Sansa’s hand, running his thumb across her knuckles in what he hoped was a soothing manner. Sansa smiled gratefully at him, but it was half hearted at best.

“Alright, everyone present and accounted for?” Ned asked, quickly doing a headcount. “Rickon, where are you?”

“Here,” said Rickon, appearing from behind a pillar, where he’d apparently been sitting, playing a game on his phone.

“What do have on your shirt?” Cat asked in despair, noting the red stain. “That’s not Joffrey’s blood is it?” She sounded horrified.

Bran laughed. “No, it’s cocktail sauce.”   


“Arya threw her shrimp at me,” said Rickon, shrugging.

Cat glared at Arya. “He put his shrimp tail in my drink,” said Arya defensively. “It was retaliation.”

“What, she said she wanted a cocktail, so I thought I’d give her a hand,” said Rickon. “Get it? Because shrimp cocktail?”   


“That doesn’t make it right,” scolded Cat, glaring at Ned when he started to laugh, though she was fighting a smile as well.

Beside him, even Sansa had cracked a smile, full and genuine, and, for once, Petyr was grateful for the Stark family antics.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahh, I'm so nervous posting this chapter, ngl. I don't think I'm the best at writing drama, like that anyway, and I'm a bit worried it's too over the top/cheesy.
> 
> But there you go! What did you think? Did you expect all/any of this to happen?? Did it meet your expectations/live up to the hype??
> 
> Also, Christmas isn't over yet - much much more to come!


	50. Chapter 50

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Family bonding at Varys' party. Sansa and Margaery talk.

Sansa had a sudden urge to bite at her nails (something she never, ever did, because she didn’t like looking anything less than her best) as she slumped in the limo next to Petyr, her family all around her as they made their way back to Varys’ place. She couldn’t believe everything that had happened tonight. 

First, she’d seen Margaery and Myrcella together, in a decidedly non-platonic fashion, and had struggled to come to terms with the fact that her friend hadn’t trusted her enough to tell her anything about it. Then, Joffrey had picked a very vocal (and at least somewhat physical, judging by the lingering redness in the form of a handprint across Myrcella’s cheek) fight with Myrcella over her relationship with Margaery, before turning on Sansa. And last, but certainly not least, once Sansa had said her piece, Joffrey had charged at her, clearly with the intent of hurting her, and Petyr, of all people (with her family all watching, it was crazy that he’d been the one to do it), had decked Joffrey, knocking him out cold before quitting, right in front of everyone.

Of course, Sansa was thrilled that she’d held her own, particularly since practically everyone in attendance at the party had witnessed their exchange, but still, she rather wished none of it happened. Especially for Myrcella’s sake. And Margaery’s too.

She didn’t care about Joffrey. He could bleed out there on the ballroom floor (unlikely, as it was just his nose, but whatever), and she’d never shed a tear. The audacity he’d had, to cast stones at Myrcella for dating Margaery, saying that she was disgracing the family name, when he’d already dragged it through the mud (and worse), and only pricks considered a homosexual relationship a disgrace. Not to mention, he’d apparently hit Myrcella for it, and had railed insults at her in front of everyone, and then later tried to do the same thing to Sansa.

She was glad Petyr had hit him. In fact, she rather wished she’d hit Joffrey herself. She bet it had felt wonderful to do so, even though she could see Petyr’s mouth quirk every now and then as he attempted to hide his discomfort; she was holding his hand, his knuckles still slightly reddened from the impact, and she could tell they were quite tender to the touch. 

But though they’d left the party behind, she was still incredibly anxious. Both Margaery and Myrcella had disappeared, and Margaery wasn’t answering her phone. Loras had gone to look for them, but apparently had had little success, as he hadn’t contacted anyone to say he’d found them. Meanwhile, Renly had tried to get ahold of Myrcella and had come up empty as well. Though he’d been invited to join them when they left for Varys’ (Sansa had a small hope that Margaery had gone to Olenna, or planned to, at least. They’d always been close), he’d chosen to stay behind and help Loras look for the girls.

Sansa felt terrible about what had happened. Far apart from how wretched Sansa felt that Margaery hadn’t told her she was dating Myrcella, and that Margaery hadn’t even said anything about going to the LASE Christmas party, Sansa was worried about the effect Joffrey had had on their relationship and individual mental states. She couldn’t even imagine how Myrcella must have felt, for her own brother to attack her like that in public, and for her own mother to not even defend her, but rather only try to placate Joffrey. Even her grandfather hadn’t spared her a second glance, his mind only on damage control and quieting Cersei’s rage.

Perhaps Tyrion had helped Myrcella? They had always gotten on well, Sansa knew. Or Tommen, though, in truth, Sansa hadn’t seen the youngest Lannister anywhere that night. And, wherever Myrcella was, Margaery was bound to be with her.

At least Joffrey was incapacitated at the moment. Even if he wasn’t still unconscious, he was likely already in an ambulance, headed towards the hospital (even if he didn’t particularly need to go, Cersei was bound to insist they take him, and Tywin would encourage it, hoping he could salvage what was left of the Christmas party without his two most unruly and unpredictable family members). And Cersei would be busy fawning over Joffrey, while Tywin did what he could to repair the morale of the party. So Myrcella wouldn’t be in any immediate danger of backlash (it was very likely that Cersei would blame Myrcella for everything, unfairly of course. Joffrey had always been Cersei’s favorite, undeservedly, but he was her first born, and so she cherished him above all else).

Sansa barely heard anything in the car ride over to Varys’, and didn’t speak either, though the rest of her family was still replaying the evening’s misadventures in painstaking detail. Petyr was quiet too, clearly anticipating her need to process everything, one of his arms slung around her shoulders as she leaned against him, holding his other hand in both of hers. Of course, he might have also been trapped in his own thoughts.

She still couldn’t believe he had quit. She’d known, of course, that he’d been thinking about it, but she doubted he’d planned to do it anytime soon. And certainly not during the company Christmas party, after he’d hit Joffrey, the son of one boss and the grandson of the other.

What would he do, now that he’d quit? Funds weren’t an issue, but she knew he’d go stir crazy without a full time job for long. At least he still had The Mockingbird to tend to - without it he’d surely be regretting his decision to quit even more….

When they arrived at Varys’, his party was on its last legs. It was far more subdued than the LASE Christmas party, with obviously far fewer people in attendance. The few people who were left were chatting quietly in small groups, some clutching glasses or small plates with appetizers in their hands. Sansa spied Ros chatting up a handsome blonde man who seemed all too aware of how good looking he was, but didn’t have the energy to spare tonight to feel the spark of jealousy that normally flared whenever she saw or thought of the buxom redhead. 

Instead, she and Petyr went straight to where Olenna was seated with Dr. Luwin (Varys had agreed to invite him even though it was technically a work party). Seeing her face, Olenna immediately scooted over to make room for her on the couch, and Sansa sat down gratefully next to her, pulling Petyr with her, though he had to make do with the arm of the couch.

Before either of them could say a word, however, Sansa’s mother spoke, sounding surprised. “Dr. Luwin?”

Luwin glanced up from where he’d been picking at a bowl of mixed nuts and beamed. “Catelyn Stark! And the whole family too! What a pleasure it is to see you all again.”

“Indeed it is,” Catelyn agreed. “We’ve missed you. Our new doctor just isn’t the same.” She paused, looking questioningly at Sansa. “I didn’t realize that you knew the Tyrells.”

“Oh I didn’t, until this summer,” said Luwin. “It’s still a fairly new acquaintance, but most assuredly a treasured one,” he added, winking at Olenna, who rolled her eyes.

“Dr. Luwin oversaw my treatment when I was admitted to the hospital for Legionnaires’ Disease,” Petyr explained. “And he and Olenna hit it off.”

Olenna shot Petyr a scathing look. “Don’t talk about me as if I’m not here, or incapable of explaining the situation myself,” she complained.

“I wasn’t,” he protested. 

“You were,” she insisted. “And I don’t care for your terminology either. We’re just friends, plain and simple.”

“I wasn’t insinuating anything,” Petyr began, but Varys cut him off, offering a tray of crab cakes to Robb and Jeyne, who stood nearby (Arya, Bran, and Rickon had all made a beeline for the buffet, leaving only their parents and the eldest children to talk with Luwin and Olenna).

“Just friends,” Varys scoffed. “Is that why he kissed your cheek when he got here and you chastised him for it, then gave him what you called ‘a proper kiss?’”

“It’s called a greeting,” said Olenna. “People with manners perform them.”

“So perhaps I should go kissing everyone I meet on the mouth from now on?” Varys inquired, offering the crab cakes to Ned and Cat now.

“I wouldn’t,” Petyr advised. “You’ll be slapped with fifty lawsuits before you get to work.”

“Not to mention catch mono,” Arya chipped in, returning with Bran and Rickon, each with full plates and their eyes on the crab cakes.

“That’s hardly the point and you know it,” Varys said exasperatedly.

“Right, you’re wondering if you should slip them the tongue as well?” Petyr asked, his mouth settled in his signature smirk as he teased his older brother.

“Yes, that’s exactly it,” Varys said sarcastically. 

“Nah, I think perhaps a quick peck and a nose boop would be best,” Sansa said seriously, before the grin she’d been restraining broke through.

Varys rolled his eyes. “Don’t encourage him,” he scolded her.

“No, I think we should,” said Bran. “I’m pretty sure that’s the first time I’ve seen her smile since before we got into the limo.”

Olenna straightened, her expression sobering. “Why, what happened?”

Sansa’s smile fell and she just shook her head. She didn’t want to tell the tale, and it was clear Petyr hadn’t told them anything yet. He had probably thought it would be better told in person. Instead, she looked entreatingly at Petyr and he quickly filled Olenna and Varys in, voice somewhat hesitant when he spoke about Margaery, as it was obvious he didn’t feel it was his secret to tell, but he couldn’t exactly leave that bit out to tell the rest. It was fairly crucial to the story.

Both Olenna and Varys reached for their phones almost immediately and tried to call Margaery, and text her too, but both received no response. Petyr took out his own phone and tried again, then fired off texts to Tyrion, Loras, and Renly. Loras responded right away, texting that he was with Renly and that they hadn’t yet found either of the girls. Tyrion’s text remained unanswered, at least for the moment.

Olenna looked furious. “I can’t believe that prick. As if anyone were a greater disgrace to the Baratheon/Lannister legacy than himself.” She reached over and patted Sansa’s hand. “As worried as I am about Margaery, and Myrcella too, I do hope you’re alright, chickadee.”

Sansa nodded. “I’m fine, honestly. Just worried about Margaery and Myrcella.” She bit her lip. “And upset that Margaery didn’t confide in me. But I guess I understand. I know she must have had her reasons.”

“I’m sure she did,” said Olenna consolingly. “Margaery loves you, you know that. Whatever her reasons, she meant well, and perhaps they had more to do with her than anything lacking with you. Loras has been out for years now, but even with our support he still had difficulties when he first realized he was gay. Margaery may have just needed time before she came out to everyone, if indeed she planned to.” She glanced up at Petyr. “As for you, I’m not sure whether to be proud that you’ve clocked the creep, or disappointed that you behaved so recklessly.”

“Go with both,” he told her, sighing. “I am.”

“I’ll go with proud,” Olenna decided. She leaned over and patted his cheek affectionately. “Don’t go beating yourself up over it. He had it coming, and you were planning on quitting anyway.”

“Sound advice from a wise woman,” said Luwin, not a trace of snark in his words.

Petyr’s phone pinged and Sansa turned to see that Tyrion had responded and brightened as she read the text. “They’re with Tyrion!” she exclaimed.

Olenna sighed in relief. “Thank the gods. Are they okay?”

Sansa watched as Petyr tapped out a response, and they all waited on tenterhooks as Tyrion took his time replying. As before, Sansa read the text, though this time she read it aloud and verbatim.

“Myrcella’s pretty shaken up, and very angry at her brother and mother (not that I can blame her), while Margaery seems perfectly fine, mainly upset on Myrcella’s behalf and lending emotional support. Margaery says to tell you she lost her phone somewhere at the party and that she’ll stop by Varys’ when she’s sure Myrcella’s okay.”

“That’s my girl,” said Olenna warmly. “She’s a strong one.”

Sansa felt her shoulders slump with relief. Margaery was just fine, and she’d be by later to talk. Everything was going to be okay. And while Sansa was still hurt that Margaery hadn’t told her, she also knew it really wasn’t about her. Not truly. Even if Margaery had kept the truth from her because she feared Sansa would be upset she was dating Joffrey’s sister, it was kindly done, and Sansa should more be concerned that Margaery might be struggling with a new identity, than for her own hurt over the secret. Once Margaery arrived, Sansa planned to tell her friend that she supported her and loved her no matter what, and that she was happy to see that Margaery had found someone. Nothing else mattered but that Margaery and Myrcella were happy. Who Myrcella was related to was of no consequence, nor was her sex.

Satisfied that Margaery was alright, Varys left them to tend to his party guests. Ned and Cat pulled kitchen chairs close to the couch after visiting the buffet table, while Robb and Jeyne sat on the floor, sharing a plate full of sweet and savory treats. Arya, Bran, and Rickon had each grabbed overflowing plates from the buffet (their second trip) and then squabbled over the remaining two chairs before Rickon wound up on the floor, defeated. Sansa saw Varys wincing as his eyes strayed to her siblings more than once, and had a feeling he’d be up all night vacuuming the carpets. She was grateful she was staying at Petyr’s tonight, else she might have felt obligated to help (or at least she would be kept awake by the noise until Olenna pulled the plug on the vacuum and yelled at Varys to go to bed).

Her parents were chiefly involved in talking with Luwin, though Olenna made herself heard easily enough, dominating the conversation when it pleased her. Robb and Jeyne were talking quietly and feeding each other bits of cheese and pastry like the newly engaged couple they were, and Sansa felt a slight pang as she watched them, wondering just when her moment might be.

She’d thought, more than once, that Petyr might propose, was certain that he was planning to do so at some point, and yet, so far, the moment hadn’t come. Whatever his reasons might be, he hadn’t popped the question yet, though there had been hints aplenty. They were always dancing around the subject, had been, in fact, since he’d gotten sick that summer. But that oh so important question remained stubbornly unasked.

Sansa wondered why he hadn’t. The only reason she could think of was that he might be waiting for her sake. Either he was worried that she wasn’t ready yet (or that she didn’t want to marry him at all, no matter how long he waited)  **_or_ ** (and she was hoping this second option was the reason. She hated the idea that he’d think she didn’t want to marry him. Of course she did) he was waiting for her family to get used to the idea of them together so as not to cause a big fuss when they revealed their engagement. Which was sensible. And she appreciated the thought.

But gods, she really wanted him to ask her.

She had a secret wish that he planned to propose over Christmas, but she doubted he would. Not with her family around to ruin the moment. While she knew he’d probably love to lord it over her parents that she said yes, she also knew he wouldn’t want to risk the chance she’d say no, or risk the chance that her family would blow up and ruin what should be one of the happiest moments of their lives.

Still, she hoped it would be soon. Getting engaged would be the perfect way to wash away all of the stress and strain from these last few days, and the days that would follow (she had no illusions that things would get any easier. In fact she imagined they’d probably get a lot worse once they arrived in Long Island).

She and Petyr sat there together in contemplative silence, not participating in the conversations of those around them or attempting their own. They both had a lot to think about, and she suspected he was probably as worn out as she was. She leaned back against his hands as he gently kneaded the muscles of her back and shoulders, her eyes unfocused as they took in none of the scenery around her, too caught up with her inner monologue. 

Eventually she became aware of the fact that Varys’ guests had all departed, and that Olenna had left to help Varys clean up, Luwin, Sansa’s parents, Robb and Jeyne chipping in, while Arya, Bran and Rickon focused on making an even bigger mess until Cat yelled at them. Petyr moved from the arm of the couch to sit beside Sansa, and she slipped gratefully into his embrace, her head resting against his shoulder. Her eyes dipped closed and then she was dozing, only stirring when he softly called her name.

“Sansa?”

“Hmm?”

“Margaery’s here.”

Sansa’s eyes flew open and she sat up. The room was empty but for them and Margaery, who was standing shyly by the door, her hands clasped. Petyr dropped a kiss on Sansa’s forehead then gently disengaged himself from her grip and stood. 

“Where is everyone?” Sansa asked, confused. 

“They went back to my place,” he told her. “It was getting late, and Varys was about ready to have a heart attack watching your younger siblings, so I told them to take the limo. We’ll take a cab back when you’re ready, or we can sleep here. Your choice.” He paused. “I’m going to leave you two a few moments to talk. I’ll be in your room, if you need me.”   


Sansa nodded and he flashed her a reassuring smile before he left. She watched him go, then straightened, stretching lightly as she shifted to face Margaery. Someone had covered Sansa with a blanket earlier, probably Olenna or her mother, and she smiled at their thoughtfulness, then smiled for Margaery too.

“Are you okay?” Sansa asked.

Margaery returned her smile, though it was tentative. “I am.” She walked over to join Sansa on the couch, movements slightly stiff and awkward.

“How’s Myrcella?”

“Not great.” Margaery sighed. “Her brother’s a real piece of work. Her mother too.”

Sansa nodded. “Don’t I know it. Though he seems to be even worse lately. Worse than he ever was when we were dating.”

“Myrcella said he’s rarely sober anymore, and he’s a mean drunk, so you know, he’s a barrel of laughs most of the time.” Margaery blew out a breath of air. “Sansa, I’m really sorry-”

Sansa shook her head. “Don’t. It’s okay. I just want you to be happy. Are you happy?”

Margaery smiled. “Excepting tonight, yes.” She paused. “I would like to explain though. At least why I didn’t tell you that I was going to the party tonight. I wasn’t going to go, it was too risky, what with Joffrey, and we still weren’t sure what we were to each other, and that was the plan all along until tonight, and Myrcella begged me to go. She didn’t want to suffer through the party without me and eventually I gave in. We were going to be careful, just say we were there together as friends, but then with the open bar we clearly got reckless and Joffrey spotted us and blew a gasket.” She sighed. “I never meant for you to find out that way. For anyone to find out that way. And now the whole of New York knows. Well, the whole of LASE knows. And everyone in both of our families.”

Sansa grimaced. “I’m sure there are worse ways to come out, but I can’t think of any. I’m so sorry that Joffrey ruined everything, like he always seems to.” She paused. “You know I don’t care, right? That she’s Joffrey’s sister? I mean, she’s nothing like him, and as long as she treats you well, I am happy for you both.”

Margaery smiled. “I’m glad.” She spread her hands in her lap, watching her fingers. “I’ll admit, a tiny part of me was worried that you wouldn’t be okay with it because of Joffrey, but it was mainly that she and I were still coming to terms with how our relationship had changed. You’d already told me you were fine with us being friends, way back in October, so I was pretty sure you’d be receptive, but I don’t know, sometimes the mind plays tricks, you know? And Myrcella and I really just were friends in the beginning, and I’d honestly never liked another girl that way before, and she had, but had never acted on it, and we were just trying to figure everything out before we told anyone. Partly because we knew that, while my family would be accepting, hers would not.”

“Hopefully everything will work out,” Sansa told her. “You both deserve to be happy. And if her family won’t cooperate, they can stuff it. I’m sure Tommen will love his sister no matter what, and he and Tyrion and Renly can come along with Myrcella and join ours instead.”   


Margaery grinned. “Wow, we sure can pick them, huh? Both of us just had to fall for people where the drama was just waiting for us.”

“They’re worth it though,” said Sansa. “It’s been tough at times, and today was no exception, but I’ve never been happier. And you know, I really do think of you as family. All of you. You’re like the sister I’ve always wanted.”

“You have a sister,” Margaery reminded her.

“Yes, and she’s a complete pain, even though I love her. But you, you’re also my best friend, and I love you so much.”

Margaery’s eyes misted and she scooted closer, wrapping up Sansa in a hug. When she pulled away, she was grinning again. “Of course, you’re probably going to be my aunt at some point, but I’ll take it. You’ll be my favorite aunt.”

Sansa snorted. “Gods, that’s awkward.” She paused. “Technically though, won’t I be your only aunt? Or did your mother have siblings?”

“She did, but I’ve never met them. They’re estranged.” Margaery shrugged. “Anyway, it still counts. So long as he asks you anyway,” she added.

“Shh,” Sansa shushed her. “He could hear you.”   


“So what? You think he might turn tail at the hint of marriage? I’ve seen you two together, he’s probably had plans to propose since your second date. Or the moment you met, really,” teased Margaery.

“Still, I don’t want to pressure him,” Sansa protested, her voice lowered to a whisper. 

Margaery rolled her eyes. “Fine, but as I said before, he’s probably already got the ring and everything. It’s just a matter of when he does it.”

Sansa sighed. “Hopefully it’ll be sooner, rather than later.”

Margaery grinned at this admission, then yawned. “Oh wow, I’m tired. I swear, nothing knocks you out like drama.” She paused, then waggled her eyebrows. “That and getting punched in the nose by Petyr.”

Sansa laughed. “A moment I will surely cherish forever.”   


“You and me both,” Margaery assured her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, I tried to treat Margaery's situation very respectfully, so hopefully it came across alright. Hope you enjoyed the chapter <333


	51. Chapter 51

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another day of sightseeing with the Starks, and then both the Starks and the Tyrells pack up to go to Long Island, to celebrate Christmas Eve.

Petyr and Sansa wound up going back home to his apartment after all, though he’d initially feared they wouldn’t. Instead, his obliging niece had been so sleepy that Sansa had offered to let Margaery sleep in her bed rather than head back home. So, of course, that left Sansa and him no choice but to go back to his home, and his wonderfully inviting and far more **_comfortable_ ** bed.

Sansa’s youngest siblings were still awake, chomping on chips and watching reruns of Mythbusters in the living room, but everyone else was asleep. Exhausted, Petyr and Sansa went directly to his bedroom, where they shed their clothes and climbed into bed, both passing out only moments after their heads hit the pillows. He didn’t wake again until morning had come, and he smelled breakfast cooking, the scents of maple syrup and bacon wafting through the whole apartment.

Yesterday, before they’d gone to the party, Cat had asked him if she could use the kitchen to make them all breakfast the next day, and he’d agreed, showing her where everything was while Sansa was still getting ready. Cat had been thrilled to find out that he already had everything she needed to make waffles, and Petyr had no doubt his waffle iron was being put to good use.

Sansa was still fast asleep, not even stirring as he gently extricated himself from her embrace and got out of bed, and he decided to let her sleep, though it sounded like nearly everyone else had already awoken. She’d had a rough day yesterday (he had as well, of course, but now that he was awake he knew he’d never get back to sleep) and she deserved some extra shut eye. He took a quick shower and dressed, chuckling softly when he saw that she was still burrowed deep in his comforter, then decided he’d pop out to the kitchen to see how everything was going.

The living room was full of bleary eyed Stark children (and Jeyne), all watching some Christmas special, their stilted speech punctuated regularly with yawns as they struggled to wake up. Petyr found both Ned and Cat in the kitchen, Ned frying bacon while Cat worked the waffle iron and mixed more batter. They were listening to Christmas music piped from someone’s phone, and looked tired, but in decently good moods. Cat smiled cheerfully at Petyr as he entered, and Ned grunted his usual hello.

Petyr went straight for the coffee maker. The shower hadn’t quite done the trick in waking him up today, and he was in desperate need of caffeine.

“Probably another fifteen minutes or so,” she said, opening the waffle iron and scooping out a perfectly cooked waffle onto a platter before refilling the griddle with batter. When she was finished, she set the bowl down and wiped her hands on the apron she’d tied around her waist. “How’s Sansa?”

“Still asleep,” Petyr answered, filling a mug with coffee and taking a sip, his tongue just barely reprieved from getting scorched in his eagerness to drink.

“Oh.” Cat looked uncomfortable for a moment, clearly realizing the implications of what he’d said.

Ned suddenly became very interested in the bacon he was frying. Petyr just drank his coffee, too tired to care.

“And your niece?” Cat asked. “How is she?”

“Margaery’s fine,” Petyr assured her. “From what Sansa told me, Margaery was just making sure Myrcella was okay.”

Ned looked up from the bacon. “And is she?”

“No, but she will be. Tyrion is taking care of her, and Renly will likely keep tabs on her. Mainly she’s just very angry,” Petyr said.

“And what about Robert? Won’t he be looking after his daughter? Reprimanding his son?” Ned asked, looking confused.

Petyr laughed bitterly. “Hardly. Robert isn’t what you’d call a hands on parent. In fact I’m fairly certain he has no idea they exist the majority of the time. Though when you spend every hour intoxicated, that’s hardly surprising.”

Ned didn’t look happy upon hearing this, but he didn’t protest either.

Cat frowned. “And what about Cersei? Surely she will reach out to Myrcella.”

“Oh she will. Cersei does love her children. It’s one of her few redeemable qualities.” Petyr paused. “Perhaps her only one. But she also favors Joffrey, and is wholly incapable of controlling him or saying no as of late, so he won’t receive any type of punishment for his behavior unless his grandfather steps in. And Tywin is likely furious, but more about the spectacle Joffrey caused than about what happened to Myrcella.”

Cat shook her head, looking disgusted. “Poor girl,” she muttered.

“Indeed,” Petyr said, finishing his coffee and setting the mug on the counter. “I suppose I better rouse Sansa.”

“Good idea,” Cat agreed. “We’re almost done here.”

As he left, Petyr heard the first few notes of ‘Santa Baby’ filling the kitchen and smirked. One of the few slightly inappropriate Christmas songs. Or at least one of the few popular ones. He was certain there were some far raunchier Christmas carols out there, if he cared to search for them. Kind of a strange predilection though, to have a Santa kink. And he’d heard some weird ones in his day….

It suddenly struck him as he made his way back to his bedroom that Santa and Sansa were only one letter apart, and his smirk grew wider as he imagined Sansa coming down the chimney in a sexy young Mrs. Claus outfit, just for him. She’d look pretty good in holiday themed lingerie….

Sansa was amazingly still asleep when he entered his room, and she honestly looked so adorable laying there, cuddling his pillow in place of him, that he couldn’t resist taking out his phone and snapping a couple of pictures. Revenge for those pictures she’d posted on Facebook of him in the hospital. Or course he wouldn’t post these - they weren’t for anyone’s perusal but his.

And retaliation from her would certainly be brutal if he did.

Petyr put his phone back into his pocket and sat on the edge of the bed, gently smoothing her hair back from her forehead to slowly urge her into wakefulness. Sansa sighed and clutched the pillow closer, prompting him to smile before he bent and pressed his lips to her skin, retreating just in time to see her eyes flutter open.

She smiled sleepily up at him, then, as she remembered yesterday’s turmoil, groaned and clamped her eyes shut again. Petyr laughed.

“Sweetling, it’s well past time to get up,” he told her. “Breakfast is almost ready.”

Sansa buried her face in her pillow. “I don’t care,” she mumbled.

“Everyone else is awake,” he tried again.

She peeled her face away from the pillow, cracking one eye open. “Even Arya?”

“Even Arya,” he confirmed.

She groaned again and closed her eye once more. “I don’t want to get up. Every time I get out of bed, horrible things happen.”

“It was just one day, my love,” he reminded her.

“One **_horrible_ ** day,” she retorted.

“It wasn’t all bad.”

“No, not all bad,” she relented. “But still. The parts that **_were_ ** bad were very **_very_ ** bad.”

“So you’re just going to stay in bed all day?” Petyr asked, rubbing her back soothingly.

“Mhmm,” she said. “You could join me, you know,” she added. “It would be much more fun with you.”

“And miss out on another day’s sightseeing with your family? Never.” He hadn’t meant to sound sarcastic (since he was trying to get her out of bed for once, and not in it) but it came out that way anyway.

Sansa giggled and opened her eyes again. Heartened, Petyr took her hand, threading his fingers through with hers, and formed a plan. Laughter, it seemed, would be key here. He could do that. Though what he was thinking about doing just then to make her laugh would never ever be able to leave the room, and he was certain he’d never in a million lifetimes do such a thing for anyone but Sansa.

He’d have to modify the lyrics a fair bit though, which was all well and good because he didn’t exactly remember them verbatim anyway. He began to sing:

 

“Sansa baby, come on get out of bed, for me.

Your family’s waiting outside, Sansa baby

Promise I’ll make it all worth it, tonight.

 

Sansa baby, come on open your eyes, for me.

It’s not as bad as you think, Sansa baby

You’ll go to bed with a smile, tonight.

 

We’ve got a full day of

Christmas cheer,

And later we’ll trim the

Christmas tree.”

 

Sansa opened her eyes again, and stared up at him, caught between amusement and her desire to stay in bed. Emboldened, he continued, really getting into it as she began to smile again, her eyes lighting up.

 

“Sansa baby, good things are coming, just you wait and see.

Your smile will light up the night, Sansa baby

I’ll have you screaming my name, tonight.”

 

She giggled and sat up, throwing her arms around his neck and kissing him. “That was awful,” she told him when she finally broke away, still holding him close. “Truly awful.”

“It worked didn’t it,” he murmured against her neck.

“Not technically. I’m still in bed,” she pointed out.

“But not for long.”

“Not for long,” she agreed.

 

* * *

 

They all ate a hearty breakfast, then all of the Stark children (Sansa included) scurried off to get ready for the day. Petyr had sadly already showered, but there wasn’t exactly time to do anything anyway (they had a full day ahead of them). So he waited patiently while Sansa got cleaned up and dressed, nursing his third cup of coffee as he pondered the repercussions of quitting his job last night.

He still couldn’t believe he’d done it. Rarely had he ever acted so rashly before. Of course, he should have felt far more remorse for punching Joffrey than for quitting his job without a plan in place, but he honestly didn’t regret decking Joffrey for a second. The prick had deserved it. Not only because of his treatment of Sansa, but because of how he was treating Myrcella, and Margaery too. Petyr wasn’t about to let Joffrey hurt anyone else he loved.

Not to mention, Joffrey had clearly been about to spend his rage on Sansa physically, and Petyr would be damned if he’d let the fuck touch his sweetling ever again, particularly in such a manner.

But quitting without having something else lined up, that he certainly regretted. Petyr had already dealt with two weeks of near idleness earlier in the year, and he wasn’t about to repeat the experience. Thankfully he still had The Mockingbird to attend to. Without it, Petyr had no doubt he’d be in a foul mood before long, if he couldn’t figure out a new occupation.

He doubted that he could get hired by any other company as CFO now, considering how he’d quit (word was bound to get around, even if Cersei and Tywin didn’t smear his name among their many contacts), so that bridge was burnt to ash. As for expanding The Mockingbird, it was certainly a possibility, but he honestly held little pleasure in running a club save for the secrets he culled from wealthy patrons and used for his own means.  Though, he’d held little pleasure as CFO, in truth, and he’d still stayed in the position for years.

Perhaps it was time to venture out, try something new. Something that excited him.

But what?

Petyr didn’t have long to mull over the matter, as everyone had hustled to get ready to go out and enjoy their day, and soon he was seated in the limo, on his way with the Starks to Battery Park, where they’d take a ferry to Liberty Island. The Starks had insisted upon seeing the Statue of Liberty during their visit, and Sansa had been all too happy to oblige them. Petyr hadn’t been in years (not since he’d been in High School, in fact, when his class had taken a school trip there), so he didn’t mind. Olenna and Varys wouldn’t be joining them (Petyr had reserved tickets for everyone for the Crown, which was a considerable walk to get to, up quite a few flights of stairs, and Varys had no wish to get such exercise while Olenna couldn’t manage it with her hip), and both Loras and Margaery had declined to go, though they’d expressed interest in it earlier (they and Renly had chosen instead to cheer up Myrcella with a double date at The Mockingbird, which was now officially Joffrey free, as Petyr had banned him from the club right after he’d quit, no longer required to admit the fucker due to work obligations).

Sansa had cheered up considerably since she’d woken up this morning, and was smiling and laughing along with her family, a fact which made Petyr feel better about the prospect of another day out with the Starks, even though he still worried, like her, that something else would go wrong. They arrived at Liberty Island and immediately began their ascent to the Crown, taking in the panoramic view once they reached their destination, slightly flushed and out of breath (even for those in shape, it was quite a climb). Pictures were taken, and they each drank in all the sights before making their descent with far less enthusiasm than they had climbed.

Afterwards, they stopped at the museum their tickets to the Crown had also gained them admittance to, then boarded the ferry again and stopped at Ellis Island, where they took a tour and explored the Ellis Island National Museum of Immigration. The rowdy Starks actually sobered quite a bit as they learned about the history of their country, and the people who had come to make it possible. Once they’d had their fill of the island’s offerings, they caught another ferry back to Battery Park, and stopped for lunch before heading to Madame Tussauds.

Though he’d lived in or near New York for most of his life, Petyr had never once visited Madame Tussauds, having little interest in seeing wax figures of famous or influential figures in society (what was the point, really? He’d rather meet the people they were based on, if indeed he was interested in them at all). But all of the Starks seemed incredibly excited to go, Sansa included, so he didn’t voice his clearly unpopular opinion. Everyone had fun cozying up to the wax figures for pictures, and Sansa even needled him into taking a few with her (she asked Jeyne to snap their picture more often than not, as Jeyne was the most willing and least likely to fake taking a picture, like Arya had a tendency to do).

Sansa was particularly interested in getting a photo with Grumpy Cat, and with Johnny Depp as Captain Jack Sparrow of the Pirates of the Caribbean movies, on whom Petyr learned Sansa had once had a raging crush (Petyr couldn’t see what was so attractive about a grimy pirate, but whatever). And all of them took a group photo (courtesy of the limo driver, who’d tagged along out of boredom) where they were running away from a Tyrannosaurus Rex and several raptors (though Arya was actually posed in the photo as if she were about to physically fight the raptor - he wasn’t sure which he’d root for in that instance).

Finally, once they’d tired of the museum’s novelty, they chose to rest their legs (they had gotten an obscene amount of exercise that day, due to the climb up to the Statue of Liberty’s crown, and then back down) by taking advantage of the horse drawn carriage rides available in Central Park. Petyr and Sansa climbed into the same carriage as Robb and Jeyne, leaving her parents to ride (slightly cramped) with Arya, Bran and Rickon. Overall, the ride was the most pleasant aspect of the day, Sansa snuggled into his side as soft snowflakes drifted from the sky and the gentle, rhythmic clop of horse hooves knocked against the pavement. They’d all purchased hot chocolates from a nearby stand (he’d chosen a peppermint variety), clutching them in cold stiffened fingers and sipping gratefully whenever they needed a boost of warmth against the chill snaking beneath their clothes.

Petyr was actually quite disappointed when their little tour of Central Park ended, and was half tempted to ask if Sansa wanted to take another circuit, but her younger siblings seemed antsy (all energy previously depleted miraculously restored. Ah the benefits of youth) and he knew they’d never go for it. Instead they all piled back into the limo to return to Petyr’s apartment, where they packed up their belongings in preparation for their trip to Long Island (they were staying there overnight and celebrating Christmas Eve and Christmas in Olenna’s old home, and at the Tully manor, just down the street). Olenna and Varys would be traveling with them, via the limo, but Margaery and Loras wouldn’t be arriving until tomorrow morning, Myrcella and Renly in tow. Of course, even without his niece and nephew, the limo would be fairly cramped, with eleven people and two cats (Olenna refused to leave Right and Left behind, though they would have been perfectly fine alone).

This meant that, coupled with past tensions, and unruly Starks limited in entertainment for the duration of the drive (which would last over an hour), tempers were like to flare during the journey, and Petyr doubted they’d make it to Long Island before someone threatened to toss someone else from the car (and possibly went through with said threat). He was, however, pleasantly surprised, and with the distraction of a movie (Home Alone, a Stark family staple during the holidays) they arrived at his childhood home without incident.

Everyone scrambled to unpack the car, and Petyr, Sansa, and Olenna directed the traffic as best they could, showing the Starks where they would be staying. Though the Tully house had room to spare for them, it had been decided that the Starks wouldn’t stay there, so as not to overwhelm Hoster Tully, who was very sick and of such a constitution that the wild antics of the younger kids were like to push him over the edge. Instead, they would visit in small groups periodically, and the bulk of the family and their festivities would be centered at Olenna’s.

Petyr loaded his own luggage, and Sansa’s, in his old bedroom, where they would both be sleeping in his old bed (luckily a full rather than a twin). It was just a two night stay, so neither of them had packed much in terms of clothes, the bulk of what they’d brought consisting of presents they hadn’t already brought over and food for that evening and the next day. Of course, one of his presents for Sansa wasn’t set to arrive until tomorrow (Margaery had agreed to bring it), but everything else was wrapped and sitting beneath the Christmas tree in the living room.

Sansa followed him inside and teased him about the decor and contents, which remained mostly untouched from when he’d last lived there, and reflected his clear interest in science fiction and tales of adventure in general.

“You’re into Doctor Who too,” he reminded her. “We watch it together all the time.”

“I know. It’s just it’s pretty hard to tell you’re a fan otherwise. You’re not exactly open about it. Really, it’s funny seeing actual evidence of how much of a geek you once were,” she teased, then paused, her eyes twinkling, and added, “Or rather, are.”

“Labeling me as such only does the same for yourself, sweetling.”

Sansa shrugged. “The difference is, I don’t mind.”

“Neither do I,” Petyr told her.

“Uh huh.”

He rolled his eyes and kissed her until she stopped giggling, forgetting for a few moments that they were in his childhood home, both of their families scattered about the house, until a loud crash reminded him once more. Sansa pulled away, eyes flashing with alarm.

“What was that?” she asked.

He sighed. “Reality calling.”

She laughed and took his hand as he led her out of his room and downstairs to find out what had happened. They found everyone else gathered in the living room, Arya and Rickon roaring with laughter as they showed their parents a video on their phone. Robb and Bran were busy righting the Christmas tree, and Olenna was scolding Right and Left as they peered around her legs, gazes fixated on the twinkling lights and the branches that beckoned enticingly.

“Why didn’t you stop them instead of just taking video?” Cat scolded Arya.

“I wasn’t the only one in the room,” Arya said defensively. “Rickon could’ve done something while I was busy filming.”

“Except you didn’t have to film it,” said Ned, sounding exasperated.

“But then you wouldn’t be able to see what happened, and you’d have blamed us for it,” said Arya.

“We’re blaming you for it anyway, because you just sat back and watched instead of stopping it,” Cat shot back.

Arya threw up her hands. “Well fuck. **_Now_ ** you tell me.”

“Language!” Cat snapped.

Ned sighed, rubbing at his temples. “Just stop, alright? Next time you see the cats messing with the tree, do something about it instead of making a video for MeTube.”

“YouTube,” Rickon corrected him.

“Whatever. We’re guests here. I expect you to act accordingly. If you can’t manage it, then you’ll be spending the next day in your room, Christmas or not. Is that understood?”

Arya and Rickon nodded, before Arya spoke up again, addressing Petyr. “Sorry, it’s just we’ve never seen cats around a Christmas tree before, ‘cept online of course. I honestly didn’t think they’d knock it over. I mean, that tree stand looks pretty sturdy. And it’s not like you had any ornaments on it yet, so I didn’t think there was any harm in watching them for a bit.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Olenna assured her, edging past Petyr with a box of candy canes tucked under one arm. “It’s not the first time they’ve pulled down the Christmas tree and it certainly won’t be the last.”

Varys followed Olenna over to the tree, holding a large green tub marked ‘Christmas Tree Ornaments.’

“Though we’d appreciate it if you kept an eye on them regardless,” Olenna continued, taking a seat in a nearby armchair and prying open the lid.

Varys bent and picked up one of the balls of bubble wrap and carefully peeled away the plastic to reveal what looked like a misshapen clay angel. “Oh yes. It would certainly be a shame if any of these treasures were to never again grace the Tyrell family Christmas tree.”

Olenna snatched the angel away from him and defiantly hung it on the tree, smack in the middle where anyone could see it. “Excuse me, I’m allowed to be sentimental from time to time. I happen to cherish each and every ornament in this box.”

“It doesn’t even look like a Christmas tree,” Varys protested.

Petyr drew closer to the tree, cocking his head to the side as he studied the ornament. “That’s what it’s supposed to be? I thought it was an angel.”

Varys snorted. “You tell me. You’re the one who made it.”

“You’re both wrong,” Olenna cut in. “It’s a snowflake, and Loras made it for me back when he was in kindergarten. Now quit making fun. I’ve got plenty of handmade ornaments in here and very few are anywhere near masterpieces.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song is awful and I know it, but I maintain that that's because it's improvisation on Petyr's part and not my horrible songwriting skills XD
> 
> Poetry is so not my strong suit lol
> 
> Also, sorry about the formatting of the song. I couldn't get it to look right.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed the chapter <333


	52. Chapter 52

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christmas ornaments. Olenna has a surprise for Sansa.

Sansa stayed with Petyr, Olenna and Varys while they decorated the Christmas tree, enjoying gaining further insights in Petyr’s childhood (and Varys’, Margaery’s, Loras’, and even Mace’s) as each ornament was revealed. Arya, Bran, and Rickon were in the room with them, but their attention was glued to the television, which was playing a Stark family favorite (Die Hard) that was only deemed a Christmas film due to its setting, though that technicality hardly stopped them from watching it every year around Christmas. Meanwhile, her parents were in the kitchen cooking Christmas Eve dinner for everyone with the help of Robb and Jeyne.

Ned and Cat had insisted on providing and cooking the bulk of the food for the next two days, as a thanks to the Tyrells (and Petyr) for allowing the use of their homes. Sansa had of course had to pick all the groceries up for them (Petyr had helped), but her parents had reimbursed her for everything, even insisting on seeing receipts so she wouldn’t charge them less than they owed, and then adding more to compensate for her time. Though Sansa had told them it wasn’t necessary, they seemed determined to do what they could, and, since the Starks were likely to be consuming most of the food anyway, Sansa eventually gave in and let them.

It was nice, for once, not having to worry about or help with dinner, as she usually did. She loved cooking, especially with Petyr, but this was her first Christmas with him and the Tyrells, and she was happy that she wouldn’t have to miss anything because she was stuck in the kitchen. Instead, she could just enjoy watching Petyr, Olenna, and Varys travel down memory lane, and have fun helping them decorate the tree with ornaments, many handmade, and nearly all with a story behind them that begged telling.

The only thing that was missing was the presence of Margaery and Loras, but both had chosen to stay in the city for Christmas Eve, so that they could be with Myrcella and Renly while they dealt with their own family Christmases. All four would be heading down late tomorrow morning, after they’d spent the obligatory amount of time with the Baratheons and Lannisters. Sansa didn’t envy them. Especially after the LASE company Christmas party. It was bound to be even more uncomfortable than the Stark, Tyrell, and Tully Christmas that awaited her and Petyr.

Although, so far at least, the Starks and the Tyrells weren’t mixing too badly. It was the addition of the Tullys that worried Sansa the most. At least she didn’t have to worry about her Aunt Lysa. Her aunt’s presence would surely have meant a literal disaster. No, things would be hard enough, even without Lysa there to amp things up to the extreme.

Sansa tried not to think about that any of that though, stubbornly turning her focus instead to removing the wrappings from ornaments and requesting background information on some of the more intriguing pieces. She found a cute little gingerbread house ornament that featured old pictures of Petyr, Varys, and Mace in each of the windows, with Varys at about thirteen years old, Mace at ten, and Petyr at eight. The fourth window had all three boys together, Varys looking solemnly into the camera, Mace grinning from ear to ear, and Petyr smirking as he surreptitiously stole the candy cane Mace must have put in his pocket for later.

Another ornament featured a school picture of Petyr with his arm in a sling, a couple of years later; apparently he’d been climbing around in the trees, unseen, using his slingshot to pester Mace and Edmure, and Cat and Lysa, until he’d stepped on a branch already close to breaking and fell out, giving the girls quite a shock. Sansa had fun teasing him about the fact that he’d once used a slingshot, asking if he and Bart Simpson had anything else in common. Or Dennis the Menace.

“The latter, I think,” Varys told her.

Petyr only rolled his eyes. Sansa laughed and reached into the plastic tub again, pulling out a small wooden box with a rose etched into it. Curious, she opened it, only to find that it was a jewelry box. Instead of jewelry, however, it held several tiny ornaments, all made from a variety of mediums, and yet they all had one thing in common: they were birds.

“What are these?” she asked, glancing up questioningly at Petyr.

“Family,” Olenna answered.

Sansa furrowed her brow, confused. Petyr smiled at her. “Each bird represents one of us,” he explained, then pointed to one of the birds, dark of feather but for a white stripe across its wings, and added, “I’m the mockingbird.”

She smiled, remembering that Petyr’s club was called The Mockingbird. So that’s where he’d gotten the name. She’d never expected its origin to be so sweet.

Glancing back down at the box in her hands, she searched for a bird she might recognize, finally alighting on one. "Who's the owl?" she asked.

"Olenna," Petyr replied. "Luthor used to call her Owlenna.”

Sansa couldn’t hold back a smile at that. Olenna looked less amused.

"She's a wise old bird," said Varys. "So he thought it fitting."

Olenna glared daggers at them both. "I've always been fond of birds, owls in particular. And Luthor came up with that nickname when we were still dating, and even if I tolerated it from him, I most certainly won't from you."

“It’s better than the nickname you gave him,” Petyr said cheerfully, pulling another bird from the box and showing it to Sansa before passing it to Olenna. The bird had grey and white plumage, with a body similar to that of a rather lumpy, bloated goose. Its neck curved naturally into an ‘s’ shape, the head slightly bulbous, its beak stretching to encompass its eyes. All in all it was a very strangely formed bird.

Olenna cradled the tiny ornament in her hands, smiling fondly down at it for a moment before raising her gaze to meet Sansa’s. “I called my husband after one of my favorite birds, the Dodo. I’ve been fascinated by the Dodo ever since I was a little girl and first read Alice in Wonderland. I had hopes, foolish of course, that one day I might discover that they weren’t extinct at all, and that their reputation was wholly unearned. Lothor never minded the implications much, because he knew how much I loved that bird, and him. And even if he was slow on the uptake occasionally, he was still smarter than most gave him credit for. Smart enough to laugh when he’d made a silly mistake, and move on from it. And smart enough to know that even a nickname cannot fully define you.”

Sansa’s focus dipped back to the mockingbird, her fingers smoothing along the white on its wings. It seemed Olenna had her reasons for each of the birds she called her loved ones after. Why the mockingbird, then?

“Because Petyr was always such a gifted child, and more than a little prone to mischief,” Olenna said, interpreting the look on Sansa’s face correctly. “Mockingbirds are masters of mimicry, able to sing the songs of any other bird. Petyr has always known just the right thing to say, to get what he wants. And he adapts easily to any situation. Whether with friend or foe, he always seems to find a way to turn things to his advantage.”

“It’s a nice way of saying he’s a social chameleon, shifting to the personality and charms that will serve him best in the moment,” Varys said.

“Which is why I’m always a sarcastic smartass around Varys,” said Petyr, smirking at his brother.

Only then? Sansa raised her eyebrows at Petyr, whose smirk broadened as he caught the meaning in her glance easily.

Varys shrugged. “Imitation is the finest form of flattery,” he said, and reached into the box, pulling two more identical tiny birds from their velvet lined cocoon. Their white plumage darkened into the lightest grey-brown the further down its body your eye traveled. Upon the backs of each of their necks was a single black horizontal stripe.

Sansa recognized them at once, her eyes lighting up. “Turtle doves!” she exclaimed.

Olenna smiled at her. “Very good,” she praised. “My Mace was born just after Christmas. He was so sweet, so very like his father. I called him my little turtle dove. It just seemed fitting. Doves are closely related to the Dodo, you see, and then of course there’s that song.” Varys hummed a few bars of ‘The Twelve Days of Christmas,’ and Olenna nodded, “Yes, that one.”

“But why are there two?” Sansa asked, confused.

“Because one is Alerie’s,” Petyr explained.

Olenna smiled sadly. “Turtle doves are a symbol of devotion, you know. And they were so in love. Like had found like, and it felt right to make them a pair.”

“Quite fitting for the song, too,” Varys added.

“And there’s that,” Olenna agreed, laughing softly. “But mostly their devotion.” She pointed at two of the remaining birds in the box, which had previously been nestled near the turtle doves. “Those are Margaery’s and Loras’. Margaery is the dove, which I’m sure you well know is often used to symbolize peace. She was always such a calm baby, quick to smile, and so sweet. Nothing gave her more pleasure than helping others.”

The dove was snow white and slim, its manner and form graceful, just like Margaery. Sansa smiled at it before she plucked Loras’ bird from the box. It was gorgeous, its head a bluish grey, its body shimmering iridescently in greens, blues, and purples, the feathers long. “Pretty,” she commented.

“And flashy too,” Varys supplied. “Just like Loras.”

“Olenna nicknamed Loras after the Nicobar pigeon,” Petyr said. “Pigeons and doves are closely related, believe it or not. And he was really obsessed with Pokemon, at one point. So he rather liked being called Pidgey, after his favorite Pokemon.”

Sansa laughed. Oh, she was going to enjoy teasing Loras about that later. “It’s perfect,” she said, still giggling.

Varys gently pulled the box from her grasp. “Hang on, now. We haven’t gotten to the best of them yet,” he said, pulling the last bird from the box and holding it up for Sansa to see with a flourish.

This bird had glossy black plumage with white speckles along its body, its head a deep purple, its breast a deep blue that faded into light green. It was beautiful, but she didn’t recognize it.

Varys looked disappointed. “I must say, I’m surprised you don’t know it. Starlings are pretty common, you know.”

Petyr smirked. “They’re considered pests in most countries,” he told Sansa.

“They’re misunderstood,” Olenna said, shooting Petyr a look. “Just like the Dodo, and the common pigeon. Humans just don’t like nature intruding on their lives, is all. They forget that they are in fact part of nature.” She turned to Sansa. “Starlings are wonderful birds. They are remarkably adept at mimicry, and their songs are quite complex. Mozart actually adopted a pet starling, after hearing it sing part of a work he’d written. He became quite fond of it, and the bird even learned part of his Piano Concerto in G Major at one point.”

“Meanwhile, Varys knows the whole composition by heart,” Petyr said, earning a poke from Olenna’s cane. Sansa smothered a laugh.

“You’re pushing it,” Olenna scolded him. “Go get my purse, and make it quick, else I’ll tell Sansa some of your more embarrassing childhood stories.”

“Yes, Mother,” Petyr said cheekily, getting to his feet. Before he left, he swiped one of the candy canes from the box, unwrapping it on his way out.

“Don’t hurry back,” Sansa called after him.

He shot her a wounded look over his shoulder and she laughed. “So I can hear some of those stories,” she explained.

Petyr chuckled, but she could see the way his footsteps quickened. She laughed again.

“Don’t worry,” Olenna told her. “I’ll tell you anything you want to know,” she promised. “Now let’s get these birds on the tree where they belong.”

“Front and center, like always,” Varys said, moving to hang his starling in a space that Sansa only now realized had been purposefully left bare. Right above Loras’ handmade snowflake.

Olenna scooted forward on her chair, and hung the owl and the Dodo above the starling, then added the two turtledoves. She nodded at Sansa. “Why don’t you hang Margaery’s, and Loras’ too? Usually we each hang our own, but they won’t be here until tomorrow morning, and it won’t feel right, seeing the tree without them.”

Sansa smiled and took the pure white dove and the vibrant Nicobar pigeon, each beautiful in their own right, from the older woman, standing to hang each on the tree just below the two turtle doves. While her back was turned, she heard Petyr come back, and then felt him, there beside her. He had his little mockingbird ornament in his hand.

“Just a moment,” Olenna said.

Sansa and Petyr turned to look at her, watching as Olenna produced a small box from her purse. “This is for you, chickadee.”

Surprised, Sansa took the box from Olenna, carefully prying the lid open. Inside was another bird, its body a soft brown, tail feathers tipped in red.

“It’s a nightingale,” Olenna explained. “I’ve always called you chickadee, but it’s merely been a placeholder until I found just the right bird to suit you. The nightingale has been symbolically significant to some of the greatest minds in literature for centuries. It is associated with creativity, nature’s purity, virtue, and goodness. Many a man has found his muse in the nightingale, and their very name means night’s song.” She paused. “ Sansa, you’ve brought the music back into my son’s world, and I cannot think of a more fitting bird to call you after.”

Sansa felt tears pricking at her eyelids. She knew what this meant. Olenna was calling her part of the family. Petyr might not have asked the question yet, but it was coming, and Olenna knew it. Sansa couldn’t think of a better gift, even if the question was still unasked and unanswered as of yet. Even if it might yet be many more days until that moment came.

This reassurance was enough, for now.

“I love it,” she said, sniffling as she gently lifted the bird from the silk cushioning.

“Go on, hang it on the tree,” Olenna prompted.

Sansa saw Petyr grinning out of the corner of her eye, and her heart skipped a beat.

He’d known about the nightingale beforehand. She could see it in his eyes.

She grinned back at him and together they hung their birds on the tree, right along with the rest. The nightingale and the mockingbird, side by side.

She’d never seen a more perfect sight.

 

* * *

 

Here's a few pictures of the birds mentioned:

 

Nightingale:

 

 

Turtle Doves:

 

Mockingbird:

 

Dove:

 

Dodo bird:

 

Starling:

 

Nicobar Pigeon:

 

Owl:

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is one of my absolute favorite chapters that I've written for this fic. The ornaments are inspired from a set of ornaments my own family hangs on the tree (a family of mice lol). A lot of work went into research for the ornaments, so I hope you liked it!


	53. Chapter 53

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christmas Eve dinner with the Tyrells and the Starks.

The look on Sansa’s face, when Olenna had given her the nightingale ornament, was one Petyr would treasure forever. He’d known, of course, of Olenna’s intentions. Olenna had bought the bird back in November, and shown it to him. It was around the same time he’d gone ring shopping with Varys (Petyr hadn’t needed his brother’s input, but he’d let it slip to Olenna and she’d suggested he invite Varys. Overall it had been a fairly pleasant outing. And most productive, too). Of course that ring would remain firmly in its hiding place until the timing was just right.

The timing certainly wasn’t right, just now. Even if he desperately wanted to. Even if he could see it in Sansa’s eyes, the way hope had bloomed when she’d hung her nightingale on the tree, right next to his mockingbird. She wanted him to ask. She was **_waiting_ ** for him to ask. He could see it.

But he had a plan, and he would stick to it. Yesterday had been more than a little tumultuous and, while today had been a welcome calm afterwards, he had no illusions that it was to last. They still had to get through Christmas with the Tyrells, the Starks, **_and_ ** the Tullys. And while the Tyrells and the Starks were currently getting along, Petyr was certain that the addition of the Tullys would wreck that fragile peace.

Old wounds were about to be reopened, and he wasn’t about to let the past tarnish their engagement.

So he would wait, and, though Sansa clearly was getting antsy waiting for him to ask, he knew she would be grateful that he’d chosen to wait.

She didn’t have to wait all that much longer, anyway. New Year’s Eve was only a week away. And after whatever disasters had yet to await them for Christmas, he thought proposing would be the perfect way to end this year and start the next, both on a high note, so to speak.

They finished decorating the tree soon after Olenna had gifted Sansa with her nightingale ornament, then moved on to decorating the rest of the house. Said decorations would only be up for a little over a day for their enjoyment, but Olenna insisted on doing it all the same. She’d even brought some of the decorations previously displayed at Varys’, so that they would have those cherished items around for the actual day.

“Christmas is the only time we get to see any of this, so we might as well get our proper use out of them,” Olenna said, bending to retrieve another item from the green plastic tub she’d made Varys haul over for her.

“Except that,” Varys said, spying the red suited figurine she was holding. “Put that monstrosity back.”

“I’ll do no such thing,” Olenna said, turning the Santa in her hands until she found the switch and flicking it on. With a look of triumph, she set the Santa Claus on the coffee table and clapped her hands. Immediately, it began ‘Ho, Ho, Ho-ing’ and wiggling its hips.

Sansa cracked up as both Petyr and Varys cringed. Hearing the noise, Arya, Bran, and Rickon peeled their eyes away from the television and came over to investigate.

“Oh, cool!” Arya said, clapping her hands to encourage the Santa again when it quieted. The Santa gave them a rousing rendition of Jingle Bells, with every word replaced with ‘ho,’ much to Petyr’s displeasure.

He really hated that thing.

Varys groaned and reached over to try and turn the infernal thing off, but Olenna slapped his hand away. “Don’t you dare,” she warned him.

The Santa fell quiet again, and Petyr saw the gleam in Arya’s eyes as she moved to prompt the Santa a third time. He needed a distraction. Quick.

“You know, your mother’s already laid out some of the food,” he told her. “Out on the dining room table.”

Arya stopped just short of clapping and cocked her head, intrigued. “Really?”

Petyr nodded. “Cheese ball, I think. Spinach dip too.”

“Score,” Arya said, nudging her brothers enthusiastically. They all turned, clearly with plans to ravage the food, and made their way out of the room. Before Arya was completely out of sight or earshot, she tossed a quick “Thanks, Petyr,” over her shoulder, which surprised him, but perhaps it shouldn’t.

He’d already well learned that one of the ways to win Arya over was through her stomach.

Sansa smirked at him, clearly wise to his little attempt to distract Arya and spare them all from more musical entertainment by a figurine Petyr had long ago determined wasn’t meant to represent Santa, but Satan instead.

Olenna looked disappointed for a moment, then, with a wicked gleam in her eyes, clapped her hands to spur the Santa on. This time it wished them all a Merry Christmas, which was at least more tolerable than its version of Jingle Bells. Unfortunately, Olenna wasn’t quite done torturing them yet, as she clapped her hands a second time after it finished its greeting, and this time it treated them to a tinny version of Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree (lyrics untampered with) while the Santa gyrated his hips. Varys had a pained expression on his face as the Santa belted out the song, and Petyr felt certain it matched his own.

Olenna cackled at them both, but when the Santa finally fell silent, she didn’t move to provoke him any further. Instead she just sat back, a self satisfied smirk on her face. Sansa was shaking with silent, repressed giggles.

Varys glared at them both. “I don’t see why you have to put that thing out every year,” he complained. “You don’t even like it.”

“No, I don’t,” Olenna agreed. “But Luthor loved it, and you two hate it, and that’s good enough for me.”

Sansa snorted, unable to hold in her mirth any longer. Petyr shook his head. “How kind of you, to find enjoyment in our pain,” he told her.

“Oh, quit being a baby,” she said. “It’s not that bad.” She paused. “You know, I actually kind of like it. I might get one too. They’ll probably be on sale after Christmas. I can get a good deal.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” he said, unable to temper the alarm in his voice.

She giggled. “I might.”

“Do it,” Olenna said, grinning at her.

“Traitor,” Petyr grumbled.

Sansa laughed again. “Which of us was that directed at?”

“Both of you,” said Petyr. He really, **_really_ ** hoped Sansa had been kidding.

Sansa mock pouted. “Aww,” she said, reaching for the tree and removing a candy cane. “I’m sorry. Here.” She offered him the candy cane. “Will this make it better?”

He shook his head. “Nope. I want a promise, in writing, that you’ll never bring one of those things home. Ever.”

Sansa partially unwrapped the candy cane and waved it enticingly in front of his face. “You sure?”

Petyr nodded and she shrugged, then popped the candy cane in her mouth. He narrowed his eyes at her and she giggled, then stepped back as he reached up, his fingers finding the part of the hook of the cane still covered by the wrapper. She raised her eyebrows, taunting him, and he gave the candy cane a tug, pulling it free from her lips.

Varys made a noise of disgust as Petyr transferred the candy cane into his own mouth. “You two are revolting, you know that?”

“No, it’s all him, in that respect,” Olenna remarked.

Sansa laughed and Petyr shrugged, not denying it. He probably shouldn’t be enjoying a candy cane right then, what with dinner fast approaching, but Sansa had tempted him with it and he never could resist mint. She did look a bit regretful though, that he’d stolen it from her, and he probably didn’t have enough time to finish the whole thing anyway, so he broke it and gave her half. He even gave her the end that wasn’t hooked, since the hook was always a pain to suck on (he eventually broke the cane again, so he could fit the whole thing in his mouth and not look like a complete idiot or get all sticky).

A disgruntled scolding sounded from the other room and Arya and her brothers rushed back into the living room as Petyr and Sansa settled onto the couch, the decorating finished. The youngest Starks were all grinning, not looking chastised in the slightest. Rickon had a handful of crackers, and Bran a two liter of Coke, while Arya produced a bag of holiday M&M's she’d hidden in her sweater. They flopped on the ground and tore into both the M&M’s and the Coke, gulping straight from the bottle to wash down the chocolate.

“You’re going to get a stomachache doing that,” Sansa told them.

“Nah, it’ll be fine,” Arya said. “It’s just like drinking from a twenty ounce.”

“No, she’s right,” said Petyr. “You’ll end up swallowing a lot of air, drinking it like that.”

Rickon shrugged, then pounded himself on the chest and let out a belch. “We’ll compensate, then.”

Arya snorted. “Just so long as you stick to burping. Otherwise I don’t want to be anywhere near you two.”

Bran stole the bag of M&M’s and tossed a handful in his mouth. “The feeling’s mutual,” he said.

Arya glared at him and then took a swig of Coke, before forcing herself to burp. The sound came out like the letter ‘A,’ and was quickly followed by a ‘B’ from Rickon and a ‘C’ from Bran.

Sansa groaned. “Oh gods,” she said, as the rest of the alphabet followed suit.

Arya belched out the letter ‘M’ and flashed her sister a smirk. “What? You don’t like musical entertainment?”

“Not that kind,” Sansa said.

“Alright, fine,” Arya said. She nudged her brothers. “Let’s do Jingle Bells.”

The three siblings exchanged wicked grins, ignoring their older sister’s look of horror, and were about ready to ‘treat’ them to a rousing rendition of the classic carol (Petyr couldn’t decide whether it would be better or worse than the dancing Santa’s version), when Cat entered the room, sparing them. She glanced around the room, frowning, then turned to Petyr.

“Do you happen to have rosemary on hand?” she asked. “I thought I brought everything I needed, but it seems not.”

“Should be some in with the rest of the spices,” he told her. “Up in the cupboard above the stove.”

“I’ll get it,” Arya offered, her eyes darting towards the Christmas tree.

“You will not,” Cat said sharply.

“What, I thought you wanted me to help,” Arya said innocently.

Cat just shook her head and left.

“Subtle,” Sansa said.

“What? She’s always getting on my case about helping more. I thought, since it’s Christmas, I’d offer,” said Arya.

“Uh huh. Right. We all saw you looking at the Christmas tree.”

“What does that have to do with anything?” Arya asked, still not giving it up.

Sansa just gave her sister a look.

“You don’t want to wreck the food anyway, otherwise you’ll have less to eat,” Petyr advised Arya. “With everyone that’s going to be here, tonight and tomorrow, there’s a good chance we didn’t buy enough.”

“Especially if you keep eating like complete pigs,” Sansa added.

Arya just snorted, then oinked at her sister, before unpausing Die Hard and shoving some more candy into her mouth.

 

* * *

 

When the meal was finally ready, even Petyr had to admit that it had been well worth the wait. Ned and Cat had gone all out, and the spread set on the table before them could nearly be described as a feast. There were rolls, fresh from the oven and brushed with butter, garlic and rosemary. Several types of cheese ball and creamy spinach dip with pumpernickel bread were perched on the side table, already well picked over, along with various cut veggies and dill dip. Potatoes, both regular and sweet, whipped until perfectly smooth, were piled high in two separate bowls, with butter, sour cream and chives in one, and a crispy, sugary oat and pecan topping on the other. Two large roast chickens made up the main course, their skins delicately crispy and glistening with drippings. Finally, an enormous green bean casserole topped with french fried onions made up both the vegetable category and the Stark’s apparent agenda to overload them all with food likely to give them a heart attack.

Initially, the Starks had planned for a turkey, but once they’d learned of Olenna’s distaste for it, they’d decided instead on chicken, which was basically the same thing but far tastier and more versatile. And, as a welcome added perk, Ned and Cat did a far better job at roasting chickens than they did turkeys, which Petyr had expected, since chicken was much less temperamental than turkey (although, alright, he still hadn’t given them the benefit of the doubt until he’d tasted it).

They’d all gathered around Olenna’s large dining room table, which was thankfully well equipped to seating so many, and, due to voracious appetites and the general chaos of getting seated, tucked in with little ceremony. As always, the first several minutes of mealtime conversation were stolen in favor of chewing and passing around the various offerings, at least on the part of the Starks. The Tyrells were far less gluttonous, as a whole, and more prone to quips and banter than stuffing their gullets.

“I must say, Cat, this is quite a spread,” Olenna said. Petyr recognized the compliment, bare as it was, for the olive branch it was meant to be. Clearly his mother was softening towards the elder Starks. At least somewhat.

Cat gratefully took the offering, accepting it with a smile and a murmur of thanks. “Though I cannot take all of the credit. Ned, Robb, and Jeyne were a great help to me tonight, and Sansa was sweet enough to shop for me.” She paused, then added, “Petyr helped her too, I think.”

“He did,” Sansa said. “That’s when we picked up all of that peppermint ice cream.” She nudged Petyr playfully. “Most of which is gone now.”

“Hey, I only had one bowl before your family got here,” Petyr protested.

Varys snorted. “What was it? A mixing bowl?”

Petyr didn’t deign to reply. It had been a cereal bowl, and piled rather high. But really, he rarely ate ice cream. And Sansa had gotten it for him to compensate for making him watch that Christmas movie with her.

Arya coughed. “Well, since it’s Christmas, I might as well own up to it,” she said slowly, closing her eyes as she held a hand to her heart. “Rickon ate half a carton last night.”

“You ate the other half,” Rickon shot back.

Bran snorted, then sputtered, his sparkling grape juice coming out of his nose. As it was of the red variety, it looked as if he’d been afflicted with a spontaneous nosebleed. Arya crowed in delight, and Rickon slapped his brother on the back. Cat and Sansa looked less than pleased.

“Are you alright?” Sansa asked Bran.

He wiped at his nose with his napkin, eyes streaming, and nodded, before removing his glasses and dabbing at his eyes too.

Cat sighed. “Can’t we have just one meal without someone choking, spilling, or flinging food?”

“I take it this is a regular occurrence at the Stark family table?” Varys asked, cocking an eyebrow.

“Unfortunately,” Sansa said, rolling her eyes as Arya bared a mouthful of food at her. Arya was much too old for such antics, but she loved taunting Sansa too much to stop.

“That’s the trouble with having so many boys,” said Olenna sagely. “Of course, my own table was rather quiet most of the time. Particularly as my boys got older. But then, Varys mostly kept to himself and Mace was too sweet to cause trouble.”

“And Petyr?” Sansa asked, giving him a sly look.

“Ah, and there’s the rub,” Olenna said, winking at her. “There’s always at least one troublemaker. He was prone to flicking peas at his brothers when I wasn’t looking. That and hiding food he didn’t want to eat. There were times he hid whatever he didn’t want so well that I only found it weeks later, when the smell gave up his secret. Of course, he always insisted it wasn’t him, and I never caught him at it, so it never felt right punishing him for it. And then later, I think he wised up enough that whenever he hid something, he went back for it later and threw it out, so that there wasn’t any evidence left to incriminate him.”

Petyr shrugged. “I still maintain that you just had very enterprising mice in your home.”

Varys snorted. “Yes, that’s exactly it.”

Cat smiled at Petyr. “You know, it’s funny. I don’t remember you being such a picky eater. There was that day, not long after you moved to the neighborhood, when you found Lysa and me making mud pies, and you ate so many that you were sick for a week.”

Petyr laughed. “Oh gods, I do remember that. There were rocks in those things, you know.”

Sansa giggled. “You ate rocks?”

“No, just mud, and a bit of grass,” he assured her.

“And some berries that were mildly poisonous,” Olenna said, shaking her head at him, expression that of exasperated affection.

“He had to have his stomach pumped,” Varys told Sansa, tipping more wine into his glass.

“Yes well, perhaps that experience is why I developed a more discriminating taste afterwards,” Petyr said defensively.

“So you did hide that food,” said Olenna triumphantly.

“I didn’t say that,” he protested.

Sansa grinned at him. “Should I be worried then, if I cook something you don’t like? I wouldn’t want to happen upon some half rotten soggy vegetables in my sock drawer.”

“I would never,” Petyr assured her.

“And even if he did, you’d never find out. He’d make sure to get rid of the evidence long before you’d think to go looking for it,” Varys told her.

Petyr shot him a look.

“Don’t listen to him, Sansa,” Olenna said. “Petyr loves you enough that he’d probably just eat it anyway, even if he didn’t like it.”

Petyr put his head in his hands. “I hate you both.”

Sansa laughed. “What? I think that’s really sweet,” she said, leaning in to kiss him on the cheek. “I’d be flattered if you ate something I cooked even if you absolutely hated it.”

“He probably already has,” Arya put in.

Sansa shot her sister a look, then raised her eyebrows at Petyr. He shook his head in the negative. “No,” he assured her.

“But you’re missing the potential here, Sans,” Arya said. “You should cook something disgusting. You know, on purpose for once. And then see if he eats it. If he does, then you’ll know he really loves you.”

“Thank you for that,” Petyr said, exasperated. Arya just grinned at him and shoved another forkful of potatoes in her mouth.

“I already know he loves me,” Sansa said, smiling at him.

“Still, you could always go whip up a mud pie,” Bran said. “Couldn’t hurt, anyway.”

“Just no semi poisonous berries,” Varys put in. “Unless you want to make him sick. Then I have no objection.”

Olenna chucked a roll at him. It bounced harmlessly off his forehead and tumbled out of sight, onto the floor. “It’s Christmas,” she scolded him.

“And?” Varys asked.

“And what better way for you to show how much you care,” Petyr finished smoothly. “We all know you love me. You can stop embarrassing me with this overflow of affection.”

Varys rolled his eyes and reached to serve himself more sweet potatoes.

The conversation drifted then, to speculation of what tomorrow might bring, and their plans for after dinner. As Petyr returned to his food, letting the chatter wash over him, Sansa leaned in close, to whisper in his ear.

“If I made you a mud pie, would you eat it?”

He smirked and leaned in to capture her lips in a kiss.

Honestly?

Yes. Yes he would.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A couple of notes: 
> 
> First off, I’ve got some bad news and some news that will hopefully make up for it. 
> 
> Bad news first - I’ve got to slow down updates again, to once every two weeks. Hopefully it won’t be for too long. But my carpal tunnel has been worse than ever, and in addition I’ve been more focused on my original work lately. I still love this story though, and I promise I’ll see it through to the end. 
> 
> Now the good news! Occasionally on tumblr I get requests for what I call Heart and Soul snippets. These are from more than just Petyr and Sansa’s POV (so far, Olenna and Varys’ POVs have been included), and are glimpses into the story that weren’t provided before. There are now enough of them that I’ve decided to start posting them on ao3, under the name Heart and Soul Harmonies. And both Heart and Soul and Heart and Soul Harmonies will be combined in a series called Every Heart Sings a Song (titled after a quote by Plato). On weekends where I don’t update Heart and Soul, you’ll get an update for Heart and Soul Harmonies. So hopefully that will make up for things :).
> 
> Lastly, there’s a nod to ASoIaF canon in this chapter, and a nod to Frasier too! The Frasier one is a bit tricky, but avid fans should notice it :).
> 
> Also, I’m sure the beginning of this chapter made you all pretty happy :D.


	54. Chapter 54

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reflections and Christmas Eve traditions.

After dinner, everyone helped clean up (even the youngest of the Starks), dessert forgone until they’d had enough time to digest the food they’d all heavily indulged in. Then Sansa’s parents went to get changed, so they could make a brief visit down the street to the Tully manor. As it was after nine, and Hoster hadn’t had the best day healthwise, they would be going alone, to sit by his side for a little while, and to visit with Edmure, Roslin, and Brynden for a bit afterwards while a nurse looked after the Tully patriarch. 

Sansa wanted to see her grandfather, but like everyone else she understood that it was best not to overwhelm him, especially so late in the day. He was of such a fragile constitution these days that every interaction needed to be handled with great care. His time awake was fleeting at best, and his moments of lucidity were even fewer in between. 

In all likelihood, he probably wouldn’t even recognize his own daughter, let alone his grandchildren. It was rare he even knew who Edmure was, though he knew Brynden more often than not. Still, with the time to see Hoster quickly running out, she wanted to be in his presence again, while she still had the chance. She ought to have visited him more often, especially since she’d moved to New York, but they’d never been close and somehow she’d never gotten around to it.

She regretted that, now. At least it wasn’t too late. She could still be with him this Christmas, and beyond that, if she had the courage. If he wanted her by his side. If she didn’t lose sight of what was important again.

Which was entirely possible. If it wasn’t, then words such as regret would lose all meaning. Humans were inherently flawed, and she was no different than the rest.

Ned and Cat said goodbye and stepped out into the cold, shutting the door behind them to seal in the warmth. Sansa watched them from the window, one hand holding the curtain to the side, nose pressed to the cold glass. Her breath fogged up the pane, obscuring her view, but she smiled, settling back as a warm embrace enveloped her from behind.

“So what do the Starks do on Christmas Eve?” Petyr murmured, his lips moving against her skin.

“Hmm, well usually we have these party games, but I’m not sure we’ll be doing any of that this year,” she said, her eyes drifting closed as his mouth traveled the curve of her neck.

“Oh? And why not?”

“Oh, you know my family. They can be a bit… boisterous. These games, they’re not exactly uh, well they’re kind of ridiculous,” Sansa explained. Petyr chuckled, his breath tickling her skin, and she laughed too, then squirmed away. “It’s cold,” she complained, wrapping her arms around herself, a shiver stealing along her skin.

“You’re the one standing beside the window,” he pointed out. “And I rather think you’d have been warmer if you’d stayed where you were.”

She ignored him, stepping even closer to the window. The evidence of her breath on the window pane was quickly receding, but she released another, fogging up a wider expanse, before writing with her finger upon the glass. It was silly, more akin to the behavior of school children, but when else could she act a child but at Christmas, when they all became such at heart?

When she’d finished, Petyr examined her work with a critical eye and a smirk upon his lips. She arched an eyebrow, daring him to tease her for it, but he just took out his phone and snapped a picture before the cold stole away the image. Then he took a picture of her and she beamed for the camera before breathing on the glass one last time, revealing the image she’d drawn afresh. They walked away before the heart with their initials faded, unwilling to see its end. Though she knew its renewal was always just a breath away.

They found the rest of her family and Olenna and Varys gathered in the living room. A tray of assorted desserts was perched on the coffee table, already well picked over, and everyone was seated on couches, chairs, or the floor, many with plates of half nibbled treats in their hands. The dancing Santa was next to the desserts, and Sansa was half tempted to trigger it as she and Petyr walked past. It was funny, seeing how much he hated it. She’d loved teasing him over it.

There wasn’t much room, but they squeezed onto one end of the couch, Sansa practically in Petyr’s lap (which he clearly loved. She did too, actually). They all drifted through conversation centered on the food they’d just eaten, the gifts they imagined were under the tree, and memories of Christmases passed. Stories of the Stark children mingled with stories of the Tyrell family, seamlessly transitioning from one to another, and it seemed to Sansa as if the two families were finally coming together.

She couldn’t stop smiling.

An hour passed, and then another, and then they heard the front door opening, a sign that Ned and Cat had finally returned. They came into the living room, cheeks reddened from the cold, snowflakes dusting their hair, shivering as they went to stand by the fire. Cat’s eyes were bright, the whites a rosy pink. 

She’d been crying.

“Is everything alright?” Sansa asked, her throat constricting.

Cat gave her watery smile and nodded. “Yes,” she said. “Just, it’s hard seeing him like that. He’s gotten worse, since I last saw him. Didn’t even know who I was, at first.”

Ned put an arm around his wife’s shoulders, pulling her in for a one armed hug. “But he did remember.” He glanced around the room at his children. “Edmure, Roslin, and Brynden are all looking forward to seeing you tomorrow. They’ll come by for lunch, and then we’ll go visit Hoster in shifts, stopping by whenever he’s awake and up for company.”

Sansa and her siblings nodded, and she tried to smile, despite how uneasy seeing her mother’s family again made her. In part because she knew how hard it would be, concerning her grandfather’s illness, and in part because of the history that lay between Petyr and his family and the Tullys. She loved Christmas, and she loved her family, and Petyr and his family, but this wasn’t going to be easy. Not by a long shot.

“Now, how about we have a little fun, huh?” Cat asked, inflecting her voice with forced cheer, a determined smile stretching her lips. She turned to Olenna. “I don’t know what your traditions are for Christmas Eve, but we’ve always spent at least part of the night playing games. We’d love it if you’d join us.”

“We might not be able to play all the ones we normally do,” Ned continued. “But we can still get in a few.”

“And of course we’d love to participate in any of your own traditions,” Cat finished hurriedly. 

Olenna pursed her lips, considering. “We don’t have any for Christmas Eve, that I can think of,” she said, her gaze traveling to Varys and Petyr, seeking confirmation. They nodded. “What sort of games?”

“Fun games,” Arya assured her. 

“Some can be a bit wild,” Cat said apologetically. “But we don’t have to do those. I wouldn’t want to create a mess or anything.”

“So I’m guessing we’re not talking Monopoly, are we?” Varys asked dryly.

Sansa shook her head. “Sadly no. These games are more… physical.”

“Too bad,” said Petyr. “I’ve always excelled at Monopoly.” He paused, then asked, voice wary, “What do you mean physical?”

She grinned at him. “You’ll see.”

 

* * *

 

They cleared a space in the finished basement, far away from anything breakable, and then the fun began. Ned and Cat had packed everything necessary for every game they usually played (save for fold out chairs, and skateboards too - which they’d bought at the toy store they’d visited yesterday), and Sansa had to laugh as they hauled out the bags stuffed with ping pong balls, boxes of kleenex, containers of tic tacs, rulers, bags of M&M’s, slinkys, plastic tupperware, packages of oreos, small floor mats, pedometers, a whiteboard and markers for keeping score, and blank CDs. She wondered what the airport security must have thought, when they saw what was inside. 

Probably that her family was nuts. Which was certainly true.

Olenna, Varys, and Petyr sat on the sidelines, expressions wary as Ned announced the first game, which they called Run Run Rudolph. “Alright, you know the drill,” he said solemnly, holding up the box of pedometers. “Attach a pedometer to each of your arms and legs. You’ve got a minute to reach five hundred steps.”

Cat began writing names on the whiteboard, starting with Robb and Jeyne’s. “Each person to reach five hundred gets a point,” she declared. “We’ll tally up all the points after we’ve gone through all the games, and the winner will be crowned this year’s King or Queen of Winter. Winner and runner up will both be excused from cleaning up after the games tonight, and gifts and meals tomorrow, and will also each receive a trophy marking their achievement. All who wish to participate, let me know, so I can include your names on the board.”

“So who’s first?” Ned asked brightly, rattling the box with the pedometers.

Arya and Rickon dove forward, each grabbing a handful and retreating to put them on. Robb and Jeyne followed, Jeyne slightly less enthusiastic than her fiance. Each fixed a pedometer to ankles and wrists, Arya passing the extra one she’d grabbed to Jeyne, who’d been short one. There weren’t enough pedometers for everyone to go at once, so Bran and Sansa held back, waiting patiently while their father retrieved a stopwatch.

A hand slipped into hers, and Sansa glanced over to see Petyr next to her. “Did you want me to join in?” he asked, sounding like he’d rather be doing anything else.

She smiled at him. “Not if you don’t want to. Some of them are pretty fun though. And you don’t have to participate in every game, if you don’t want to. I don’t, sometimes. Though it does hurt your chances of winning unless you do great in the rest.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Is the prize really worth it?”

She laughed. “It is, actually. If you win, you’re exempt from cleaning up tonight and tomorrow, remember? My family makes an awful lot of mess. And these games are no exception.”

“Who else is playing?” Cat called, her voice singsong. “Sansa? Bran?”

“Of course,” said Bran.

Sansa nodded and her mother smiled at her, before looking at Petyr, gaze questioning. He shrugged. “I suppose.”

Cat turned back to the board, adding Bran and Sansa, and then Petyr beneath the list of contestants. “Anyone else?”

Olenna shook her head. “Even without my hip as it is, this seems a young person’s game.”

Ned laughed, looking up from where he was fiddling with a stopwatch. “It is,” he admitted. “But I’m still going to play. Not all of them, though. Last time I played Run Run Rudolph I threw out my back,” he said sheepishly.

“That was a fun Christmas,” Cat remarked. “Rickon wasn’t even four yet, and kept asking why you wouldn’t get off the floor.”

“At least I was spared of housework for awhile,” said Ned. 

“I think I’ll pass,” said Varys. 

“But you all have fun,” Olenna said. “We’ll sit back and watch, and that will be more than enough entertainment for us.”

“They’ll be like those parade commentators,” Petyr said. “Making quips about the spectacle and heckling the contestants.”

Arya brightened. “Ooh, you guys should totally do that. And get it on video too!”

“We did bring the video camera,” Cat said thoughtfully, her gaze turning to Olenna. “Would you mind terribly?”

“A chance to film Petyr making a fool of himself?” asked Varys. “Not at all. Hand it over and I’ll capture every moment.”

Cat darted upstairs to get the video camera, handing it to Varys when she returned. 

“Don’t just focus on Petyr though,” scolded Olenna. “These memories aren’t just for you.”

“I won’t,” Varys promised.

Petyr rolled his eyes. “I’m going to regret this, aren’t I?”

“Definitely,” Arya told him cheerfully.

Sansa didn’t doubt it. Which made her all the more grateful that he’d chosen to play anyway. What he would do for her didn’t seem to have limits, nor what she would do for him. 

She’d never felt so lucky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These games are mostly taken from Minute to Win it, and a few others. Run Run Rudolph is typically called Nervous Nelly but I changed the name to suit Christmas :).
> 
> Hope you liked the chapter! If you want more Heart and Soul, check out Heart and Soul Harmonies if you haven't yet <333
> 
> Thoughts appreciated, and do let me know if you'd rather comment without me replying. I always try to reply, but it occurred to me that some may not want that, so if you don't I'll do my best to remember and respect your wishes :).
> 
> <333


	55. Chapter 55

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A nice long chapter with games, a teaser for the next chapter, and smutty smut smut smut.

Petyr wasn't sure what had possessed him into thinking that joining in the Stark Winter Games was anything less than a horrendously bad idea. He honestly couldn’t think of a worse way to spend an evening. Watching would have been just fine, standing on the sidelines while everyone else made fools of themselves and he ran an endless derogatory commentary in his mind (focused mainly on Ned, and sparing Sansa of course) because, well, how could he not? 

But participating?

He really was a fool. Love had made him do some very stupid things over the years, and apparently that little trend was bound to continue until he died.

Sansa would be worth it, though. Just seeing her smile would be worth it.

Gods, he was an idiot.

It turned out that the Starks not only had games they played every year (a contest that, from what Petyr could tell, was mainly based around looking as ridiculous as possible), but they also had their own little musical playlist, tailored specifically to each game they played. Before Ned hit the timer and signaled for Arya, Rickon, Jeyne and Robb to begin playing Run Run Rudolph, Bran used his phone to play the game’s song namesake, prompting grins from everyone in the Stark clan. 

And then they were off, Arya and the others playing moving as fast as they could, pumping their limbs. Rickon looked much as if he were having a seizure, or perhaps being electrocuted. Arya’s feet pounded against the wood floor in a flurry of motion. Even Robb was building up a sweat, though Jeyne’s attempt wasn’t nearly as exuberant as the others’. 

“Time!” called Ned, his thumb clicking at the stopwatch.

Arya and Rickon both collapsed dramatically to the floor, while Robb bent double, resting his hands on his knees as he caught his breath. Jeyne swiped a hand across her brow, brushing hair out of her eyes, her cheeks flushed from exertion. 

“Alright, let’s add ‘em up,” said Cat, waving them towards her.

Each removed the pedometers strapped to their limbs and read out the numbers, which were then tallied up. Those that reached five hundred or more steps received a line on the whiteboard next to their name. Arya crowed in triumph as her total was revealed, while Rickon groaned in dismay, just a few steps shy of making it. Robb also received a point, though Jeyne did not.

“I never win,” complained Rickon, passing off his pedometers to Bran.

“That’s because your technique’s shit,” said Arya. “Stop wiggling and focus on pumping your arms and legs next time.”

“Sansa?” Robb asked, holding up his pedometers.

Sansa nodded, reaching out to take them. “I’m in,” she said.

“How about you?” Arya asked, her gaze fixated on Petyr.

He really should have said no.

But of course, he didn’t.

Instead he took the pedometers from Arya and strapped one around each ankle and one around each wrist. He blamed Ned for this show of idiocy. If Petyr hadn’t heard earlier that Ned hadn’t participated in this particular game for approximately eleven years, having thrown out his back once because of it….

It was just too big of a temptation to pass up, showing up Ned like that. And how hard could it be? Five hundred steps in a minute. Petyr could do that. He was in good shape.

And younger than Ned, too. By six years.

Not to mention, he’d gotten more exercise than usual, as of late. Quite a lot more. He and Sansa really couldn’t seem to keep their hands off each other, even six months into their relationship.

Still, he would be lying if he’d said he wasn’t at least a little apprehensive as he stood next to Sansa, waiting for Ned to tell them to start. Petyr could deal with not reaching five hundred steps. What he couldn’t deal with was getting injured in the process. No one would ever let him hear the end of it. Not his family, and certainly not the Starks.

This really was a dumb decision. 

But only if he fucked it up, of course.

The minute passed by quicker than he would have thought. He’d focused on copying how Arya had done it, and how Sansa was moving beside him. His shoes weren’t exactly meant for such activities, but he’d at least thought to run on the rug rather than on the polished wood floors, sparing himself of slipping and face planting in front of everyone. Overall, it wasn’t all that bad, though he still felt overly warm in the sweater he’d chosen to wear that day (why hadn’t he taken it off? He had a button down on underneath…). 

Beside him, Sansa stretched and shook out her limbs, her cheeks tinted pink from the exercise. She grinned at him. “How do you think you did?”

He shrugged, feigning nonchalance as he removed the pedometers. “Guess we’ll find out.” Really he didn’t care (okay, maybe a little) if he’d breached five hundred, just glad that he’d made it through without making a complete fool of himself. Although, judging by Varys’ expression, that might not have been accomplished, lack of injury or not. 

Fuck. And it was all on video, too. He’d have to burn that video. Well, or just delete it. Either or. He’d just have to get ahold of the memory card. And hope no one uploaded it to the internet in the meantime. 

Unless it synced directly to the cloud. 

Double fuck.

The scores were tallied and Petyr was rewarded for his efforts with a point next to his name. He’d gotten five hundred, but barely, one over the required number. Sansa had gotten five hundred and fifty five, a marked accomplishment, considering her extremely athletic sister had gotten only ten steps above that. Bran didn’t reach the goal, but he didn’t seem bothered by it either, too busy fiddling with his phone to bring up the next song.

They played a game called Face the Cookie next, which involved putting an oreo in the middle of your forehead and manipulating your facial muscles to get it into your mouth. Petyr felt ridiculous and thought it a waste of time and food, but he sat on the floor next to Sansa all the same and tried his best. It helped that the oreos weren’t the original variety, but a sort of holiday themed peppermint version (which alright, had been part of the reason he’d chosen to go through with it - an excuse to eat them), though it pained him each time one ended up on the floor instead of in his mouth. After a minute he’d managed to get four into his mouth, though like the others he didn’t eat the whole cookie each time, as that would have taken up precious time. 

A point was given for each cookie, and he was well pleased to see he’d beaten out everyone else by two cookies. Years of mastering his facial expressions had apparently been an unexpected boon. Arya hadn’t gotten any points, too impatient, but Bran, Sansa, Cat, and Jeyne had all gotten two, and Ned, Rickon and Robb had one apiece. 

After Face the Cookie came a game called Mad Dog, which had an open package of tic tacs taped to either end of a ruler. Players were paired in groups of two and had to hold the ruler in their mouths and shake it until both containers of tic tacs were emptied, the second starting when the first succeeded, all within a minute. Petyr declined to participate in this game, officially hitting his limit, and Sansa looked rather relieved when he did so, as this gave her an excuse not to play. 

While he didn’t deign to play, it  _ was _ highly amusing to watch. Petyr particularly enjoyed watching Ned shake the ruler in his mouth like an angry dog refusing to give up its favorite bone. For all his efforts, Ned failed to earn his and Robb’s team a point. Only Arya and Rickon’s team succeeded. Everyone else had passed on playing, Jeyne too embarrassed, and Bran more interested in playing ‘Hound Dog’ by Elvis Presley.

Petyr couldn’t resist playing Elvis, however, which consisted of a slinky stretched between him and Sansa, a blank CD looped through its coils. The goal was to maneuver the CD from one person to the other, and then back again, without using your hands, in under a minute. Which meant they had to work together using their hips, as they well knew how to do. He smirked the whole way through, enjoying how much it was making Sansa blush, and how good they were at it, too. 

They earned a point, as did Robb and Jeyne. Ned and Cat did not, and Arya and Rickon broke their slinky by accident, prompting a brief squabble. Bran chose to sit the game out, taking greater enjoyment in playing a remix of Elvis’ ‘A Little Less Conversation.’

After that, Petyr noticed Ned had trouble looking him in the eye again. His smirk grew wider. 

Hanky Panky was next, and even Olenna joined in as they all tried to empty boxes of Kleenex in under sixty seconds. She was the first to empty hers, draping the last sheet over Varys’ bald head with a cheeky grin. He just stared at her, so she blew it off with breath from her lungs until the tissue fluttered into his lap. Arya had fun with the tissues too, and kept stuffing them down her brothers’ shirts, until Sansa cracked that maybe Arya should save some to fill her bra and she lost her taste for it.

Petyr declined to play a game called Junk in the Trunk, too, which made use of those empty tissue boxes and a trend that had been popular a few years ago that he wasn’t particularly fond of. It was quite a lot of fun though, watching Sansa twerk as she tried to dislodge eight ping pong balls from the tissue box in the allotted time, while ‘Baby Got Back’ by Sir Mix a Lot blared from Bran’s phone. 

Watching Ned do the same thing not long after rather ruined it.

They also played a human version of Hungry Hungry Hippos, where one player laid on a skateboard armed with a plastic tupperware container, and the other held their ankles and moved them back and forth in an attempt to gather as many ping pong balls as possible. As Sansa agreed to be the one to lay on the skateboard, he didn’t mind partnering up with her for that. They won that game too, a perfect team in all they approached.

Of all of the games that night, Separation Anxiety was probably his favorite, as it was the one he felt the least idiotic doing, and the one he was best at. It involved sorting M&M’s by color into plastic cups as fast as you could, and if you put the wrong color in the cup you were disqualified. Only Sansa matched his skill, the rest of the Starks quickly making mistakes. 

As for Magic Carpet, he declined to play that too, as it looked too much like a dog scooting his butt across the carpet, something he’d never ever want to be likened to. Though again, it was extremely entertaining watching Ned do it. And to his surprise Sansa did it too, though he supposed the fact that she and Arya were tied for first had a lot to do with it - theirs was a sibling rivalry not to be reckoned with, and Sansa was incredibly ambitious, when she wanted to be (and gods, was he third? Even with declining to play so many of the games, his successes in those he  **_had_ ** played had given him a considerable edge. Especially since many of the games he’d opted out of had little to do with skill and very few winners).

The final game of the night kicked Olenna and Varys out of their seats and required hauling out a bunch of folding chairs. It was basically musical chairs, but the Starks had dubbed it the “Game of Thrones” because it was often the tiebreaker that decided that night’s King or Queen of Winter. Everyone but Cat played (except for Olenna and Varys, of course), as she was needed to play the song ‘Pressure,’ by Queen and David Bowie, which Petyr thought was a rather morose song (lyric wise) for the occasion, but he supposed it fit well for the stakes of the last game. Cat wasn’t exactly in the running anyway, nor anyone else except for Sansa and Arya, but having more people made the game harder for them, so everyone who could play joined in.

And so it began, each of them dancing their way around the back to back group of chairs arranged in the middle of the floor. Some of the Starks were atrocious dancers, Ned and his sons in particular. Sansa was the exception of course. She was wiggling her hips in front of him in a manner he quite liked when the song abruptly stopped and they all scrambled for a seat, with Ned as the unfortunate odd one out. In the next round Jeyne failed to find a seat in time, giggling when Robb pulled her down on his lap instead, only to have her fiance join her on the sidelines a minute later.

Rickon was next to be ousted, and then Petyr, who’d purposely held back to let Sansa stay in the running (though he’d never tell her, preferring to let her enjoy her victory). That left only Sansa, Arya and Bran, only two chairs left for the three of them. There was a gleam in Sansa’s eyes that Petyr couldn’t help but be immensely proud of, and the three left competing grew less light hearted in their dancing and more fierce. The music stopped again and they dove for the two seats left, Arya just barely beating out Bran. Eliminated from the game, he joined the others, snagging one of the few remaining oreos on his way.

Arya grinned at Sansa. “Guess it’s just us. Think I’ll have fun leaving fragments of wrapping paper everywhere for you to pick up tomorrow.”

“I’d still be the runner up, even if I don’t win,” Sansa reminded her.

“And we’re guests in this house,” Cat scolded her youngest daughter. “So I’ll have none of that.”

“So I could do it if we were home?” Arya asked flippantly. Cat scowled at her and Arya laughed. “Just kidding.”

"Alright, enough trash talk,” said Ned. “Let’s crown a winner already. It’s after two in the morning.”

Well, that explained why Olenna was dozing in her newly resumed seat. Petyr himself wasn’t tired, but then he never slept much anyway. Of course, last time he’d been around the Starks they’d sapped his energy, but that might have had more to do with Legionnaires’ Disease, at least in those final days of vacation. And the thrill of the games, silly as they were, was quite intoxicating.

He’d always been competitive. Not in terms of sports (which he’d long ago deemed pointless, and weren’t his forte anyway), but in all other areas. Particularly in the realms of matters requiring intellect. Outsmarting others gave him a certain sense of satisfaction, whether they knew it or not. 

And while he was out of the running, he loved seeing his sweetling succeed. Once she won (for he knew she would) and they turned in for the night, he planned to treat her like the Queen she was. He would bow to no one except for her, and spend all his nights worshipping her between the sheets.

It was a good thing he was good at repressing his emotions, because watching her compete tonight, well he wasn’t certain he’d ever been more tempted to grab her and fuck her right then and there, their families’ presences be damned.

One chair remained, the new throne for the reigning Queen of Winter. The music began, and the Stark sisters moved around it, lingering by its seat and darting around the back. Tensions flared, eyes narrowed, and the music stopped.

And there Sansa sat in her throne, awaiting her crown.

Gods, she was so perfect. So beautiful.

Arya sighed, one hand on the back of the chair. “Well, at least I’m still runner up, and don’t have to clean up.” She pinched Sansa’s arm. “Good game, sis.”

Sansa smirked at her. “That’s the Queen of Winter to you.”

Arya rolled her eyes, then dipped in a mock curtsy. “Your Highness,” she drawled, before sticking out her tongue and diving for the pack of oreos that Rickon had been reaching for, stuffing the last two in her mouth.

“Hey,” Rickon complained.

“Snooze you lose,” Arya told him around a mouthful of cookie.

Sansa was still sitting on the chair, perfectly poised like the Queen she was, so Petyr drifted to her side, bending to capture her lips in a swift kiss. “Congratulations, my Queen,” he murmured in her ear. “I look forward to kneeling before you.” That could mean two things, in truth. But he was confident his salacious tone got his meaning for tonight across well enough. His lips tipped, eyes flashing with wicked intent as he retreated. She stared up at him, color dotting the apples of her cheeks, lips curving, eyes darkening to a deeper shade of blue.

“Here we go,” Cat sang gaily, swooping over with a plastic tiara in her hands, which she placed reverently upon Sansa’s fiery crown, as if it were fashioned from silver and jewels and denoted a far more covetable honor than the winner of the Stark Winter Games.

Sansa patted her curls, fluttering her eyelashes at him. “How do I look?” she purred.

“Like a Queen,” he told her. 

“Not beautiful?” She pouted.

He smirked at her. “Always.”

 

* * *

 

Later, when they’d finally managed to extricate themselves from her still impossibly rowdy family (some of whom showed absolutely no signs of tiring, despite the lateness of the hour), Petyr closed the door to his old bedroom, sliding the deadbolt into place. Just in case. 

He didn’t need Ned or anyone else walking in on them tonight.

Sansa was removing her tiara when he turned, placing it fondly next to the trophy she’d also earned, which was apparently handmade by Cat herself, and featured a goofy looking snowperson (apparently that distinction was important) holding a plaque that had the number one on it, with the date below. Quite a family he was planning on marrying into….

Again, she was worth it.

That is, he’d be marrying into their family  _ if _ she said yes.

He was about ninety nine (okay, perhaps more like ninety) percent sure she’d say yes. The deficit was past insecurities rearing their ugly heads. Every indication told him she was dying for him to ask her. Logically, he knew she’d say yes.

It was just a matter of waiting until the day, and then popping the question. 

“You look far away,” Sansa commented, slipping into his arms, her nose grazing his.

He kissed her, not wanting to summon up a lie to satisfy her. He didn’t want to lie. Not to her. 

Luckily she was easily persuaded to think on other matters, and soon she had her back across the mattress, her hair fanned out against the comforter, and he was fulfilling his promise to kneel before her as he ran his tongue along her slit. She shuddered and squirmed beneath him, breathy whimpers escaping her lips, but he was relentless, burying his head between her thighs until he heard a muffled cry, her hand clapped over her mouth to stifle the noise.

Petyr kissed her inner thigh, right down to her knee, then rose to his feet. Sansa lifted up onto her elbows, her blue eyes clouded as she watched him unbuckle his belt. He perched beside her on the bed, quickly unknotting the laces of his shoes, his fingers fumbling slightly as she sat up, plucking at his sweater with one hand as she angled his jaw towards her, stealing a kiss. Shoes discarded, he shrugged off his sweater, then everything else, Sansa’s wandering hands hastening the process.

Her lips seared against his and she tasted like those peppermint oreos they’d all scarfed down earlier in the name of competition, like mint and chocolate and  _ his _ . Only his. And though she was a Queen, she did all the work tonight, riding him backwards, her back to his chest, his hands kneading her breasts, his mouth clamped on her neck. 

Sansa’s back arched as she rolled her hips, one hand snaking back to snarl in his hair, nails raking deliciously against his scalp. He grunted and pinched her nipples, bridging that same barrier between pleasure and pain, and she moaned, the sound low in her throat. She rocked harder, chasing her peak and he released her neck, nipping at her earlobe instead. 

“Ohhh,” she groaned.

She was getting close. So close. Her walls were gripping him tighter with each thrust of her hips. And he - he was nearly over the edge himself.

He closed his eyes, fighting against the wave. Not yet.

“Oh gods, Petyr.”

Abandoning one of her breasts, he sought her clit instead.

“Fuck,” she hissed. “Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck.”

She was getting too loud. Everyone would hear her.

Somehow that made it so much better.

She was so wet, his fingers slick against her slit. He’d taste her again later. Right now she needed to come. They both needed to come.

“Oh! Fuck yes! Oh Petyr yes!”

Her last words were sharp as she trembled, her walls fluttering around him, pulling him deeper. And then he was spent, groaning her name against the shell of her ear, rather louder than he needed to, his fingers digging into the flesh of her inner thigh and the curve of her breast.

There were bound to be more than a few disgruntled looks at breakfast. Barely contained rage likely, on Ned and Cat’s part. He didn’t care. Neither, it seemed, did she.

Before she fell asleep she whispered those three words he loved from her lips as much as his own name. And he held her close and murmured them back, contemplating the surprise he had coming for her tomorrow.

Weeks ago, Petyr had been prowling through Sansa's history on Facebook and Twitter and Pinterest, during some of the more boring meetings at work (before he'd quit, of course), searching for inspiration for Christmas gifts. He had wanted to get her something that would help bring any joy back into her world that her family's visit might have sapped. Something meaningful, something that would show her how much she meant to him, that he'd do absolutely anything for her.

He'd dug deep, sifting through countless photos and posts and retweets and likes and articles, until he'd finally found the absolute perfect gift. The Starks had once had a dog, when Sansa was still quite young. Grey Wind, they had called him. Grey Wind had been adopted just before Sansa had been born, becoming Robb's closest companion. Though the dog had always favored Robb above everyone else, Grey Wind and Sansa had clearly had a connection. She'd loved that dog, and she'd been shattered when he passed away. The Starks hadn't adopted another dog since, too preoccupied with the three other children that soon followed Robb and Sansa.

But Petyr could tell Sansa yearned for another dog. Her Pinterest was full of pictures she'd gathered of dogs, puppies and adults alike. And she had an entire category devoted to one particular breed.

Now, Petyr had never particularly wanted a pet. Not a dog or a cat, or even a bird, though he liked them nearly as much as Olenna. He liked Right and Left well enough, and most animals, really, but they were messy and really more trouble than he felt they were worth. You had to train them and clean up after them and deal with them shedding fur all over your furniture and clothes, and sometimes they even destroyed said furniture and clothes.

Petyr hated the idea of any of that. It was bad enough having to lint roll his suits after visiting with Sansa at Olenna's. Right and Left didn't shed as much as some, but they still left plenty of hair around that inevitably clung to his clothes.

But he would truly do anything to make her happy. And if she wanted a dog, well then he'd give her a dog. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Except for Cat (and Jeyne), the eliminations from the Game of Thrones follow the show. Well, except for Arya, Bran and Sansa too. But we don’t know their fates yet. So I had Bran go first, since he’s a shadow of his old self, and then Arya because I doubt she’ll survive. And because I wanted Sansa to win :).


	56. Chapter 56

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christmas Morning. Gifts, gifts, and more gifts.

Sansa wasn’t exactly surprised that neither of her parents would look her in the eye when she and Petyr came downstairs for breakfast on Christmas morning. Robb too was avoiding her gaze, Jeyne blushing bright red by his side, and Arya kept snickering in between bites of decadently gooey cinnamon pecan rolls. Bran and Rickon either didn’t care or were completely oblivious, while Varys kept rolling his eyes. Only Olenna seemed unperturbed, despite knowing exactly why most everyone else was uncomfortable - very little could ruffle her feathers without her express permission.

It had been very stupid to have sex last night. The gods knew she wasn’t the best at being quiet. At least not lately. Petyr was always very encouraging of her being as vocal as she’d liked, and generally they were all alone in his enormous apartment and it didn’t matter how loud she got. She’d forgotten how to hold back, and now they were paying for it.

And things had been going so well, yesterday. Everyone getting along surprisingly swimmingly. The past referenced (not the events that had fractured the Tullys and the Tyrells, obviously) without inciting bickering or tension.

It had given her hope.

And now she’d gone and ruined it.

For his part, Petyr looked rather pleased with himself. Which didn’t exactly help matters. But she didn’t chide him for it, even though she knew he was enjoying how uncomfortable her parents were. It was awkward, but they needed to get used to the idea that she was just like most any other adult and therefore had sex.

Really, really great sex. Phenomenal sex.

Gods, last night had been amazing.

They ate at the dining room table, indulging in the cinnamon rolls still deliciously warm from the oven, along with juice and freshly brewed coffee. When Ned and Cat weren’t too busy being awkward, it was clear to tell they were exhausted. Even without the little vocal performance Sansa and Petyr had unintentionally (at least on her part) given them last night, none of them had gotten to bed until nearly three in the morning.

Yawns were aplenty as they staggered into the living room, many of Sansa’s siblings still wearing what they’d slept in. Sansa hadn’t worn anything, so of course she’d gotten dressed, and Petyr never went anywhere around company disheveled (he looked so delectable today too, in black dress pants and a soft, white turtleneck sweater. She’d have to ask him to wear that outfit more often), loathe to show any vulnerability with anyone but her. The tree’s lights were still sparkling, left on through the night for the Santa Claus all of them knew wouldn’t be coming. Right and Left had apparently batted down a few of the ornaments while they’d been eating, which Olenna made Varys replace before everyone quieted, eyes alight with anticipation as they flickered between the colorfully wrapped presents piled under the tree.

“Well,” Ned said, rubbing his hands together. “What do you say we get to it?” He turned to Olenna. “Cat and I usually pass out the presents to the kids. Then they trade the gifts they got for each other. But we’ll defer to you to make the decision of how to proceed.”

“That’s fine,” Olenna assured him. “You go on ahead. The older one gets, the more you know how to wait. My boys will be patient.” She glanced at the ornate clock on the wall. “And anyway, I’d rather wait until Margaery and Loras get here, to pass out my own.”

“When are they coming?” Sansa asked, eager to see Margaery again. She hoped everything was going alright - Margaery and Myrcella were apparently going to try and spend a bit of time with Myrcella’s family, along with Loras and Renly, before driving down.

Petyr glanced up from his phone. “They’ll be here in about an hour. Apparently Christmas with the Baratheons and the Lannisters was everything they’d expected it to be.”

“That bad, huh?” Varys shook his head. “The city in ruins then?”

“Nah, Joffrey’s still in the hospital,” Petyr replied, tucking his phone back in his pocket. “Cersei’s insisting he has a concussion, despite all evidence to the contrary. She hasn’t left his side since that night. Which left Robert and Tywin in charge of Christmas. Robert’s still drunk from Christmas Eve, and Tywin and Stannis and his family have never been a barrel of laughs. They all arrived early, along with Tyrion and Shae, talked with Jaime and Tommen, then left as soon as they found an opening.”

Sansa sighed in relief. Not too bad then. “Good. Marge and Myrcella have had it hard enough.”

There was a murmur of agreement and then Ned shuffled over to the tree, picking up a large package at its base, his eyes raking over the wrapping paper in search of its label. Cat joined him, and together they began to pass out the gifts, small piles accruing by each of their children and, to Sansa’s surprise, by Petyr, Olenna and Varys - though their haul was significantly smaller.

Olenna took the proffered gift with raised eyebrows. “Just a little something,” Cat explained. “To thank you for opening your homes to us over the holidays. And to spread a little cheer.” 

Cat was gifted with a nod and the soft curve of a smile, which grew as Olenna unwrapped the gift. “How did you know?” she cackled, holding up a box of sweets: chocolate covered cherries. The second box held delicacies as well: a variety of fruit and nut morsels dusted with powdered sugar. Last but not least was a broach in the shape of a rose. Apparently Cat had remembered Olenna’s favorites and likes from a childhood spent in her presence, as Olenna seemed thrilled with each.

Petyr opened his own gifts to find a silver framed photograph of him and Sansa, taken by Bran at the lake. There was also a silver letter opener tipped with a mockingbird, and a pair of black swim shoes (which made standing and swimming in the lake much less hazardous for your feet, with the rocky sand in the sandbar) in his size. Sansa was so touched at the efforts her family had gone to, that tears threatened to fall. When her mother caught her eye, she mouthed a thank you, to which Cat blew her a kiss.

Meanwhile, Varys had gotten a letter opener as well, though his was tipped with a microphone, a nod to his career as a host of his own radio show (and, Sansa supposed, his drag shows. Though she didn’t think Cat knew about that aspect of Varys’ life). A box of fine chocolates and a container of old fashioned shortbread cookies were both opened soon after their wrappings had been discarded, despite the earliness of the hour.

“You shouldn’t have, Cat,” said Varys, tipping his head in her direction as he selected a chocolate.

“Those shortbread cookies were always your favorite, I remember,” Cat said, passing another gift to Arya, who’d made an abominable mess, though she was far from the only one. The living had exploded with wrapping paper, ribbons, and tissue paper. 

“He was the only one who liked them, too,” Petyr commented. “I never could understand it. They’re rather dry and tasteless, if you ask me.”

“So are you, but Sansa seems to like you all the same,” said Varys, biting into the aforementioned cookie.

Arya howled at that, nearly everyone else cracking a smile at the very least. Petyr just shrugged. “The only opinion that matters, I think.” 

Sansa grinned at him and leaned in, pecking him on the cheek.

“And mine doesn’t?” Olenna asked, eyes dancing.

“And yours,” he relented.

Sansa’s own haul of presents was considerable, her parents outdoing themselves. Clothes and books and movies and shoes. Renewals of several of her subscriptions to popular fashion magazines. Makeup. A photo album packed with this year’s lake memories. And she and her siblings hadn’t even traded gifts yet, nor her and Petyr, or the rest of the Tyrells.

Arya was the first to hand out her gifts, saving Sansa for last and walking to her side, empty handed but for her phone. Sansa raised her eyebrows. “Forgot me this year, huh?”

“Nope!” Arya grinned, holding up her phone to show that she had Youtube running, a video paused on the screen.

“What is this?” Sansa asked, reaching out to take the phone, her expression wary.

“You’ll like it,” Arya assured her. “Trust me.” She nodded at Petyr. “You should watch too.”

Sansa glanced down at the screen. The video had been uploaded by Arya herself, judging by the screenname (Nymeria. Some fictional character Arya was obsessed with). And it had quite a lot of hits and thumbs up. Which Sansa wasn’t certain boded well. 

“Trust me,” Arya repeated, leaning down and jabbing the play button with her finger.

The beginnings of Heart and Soul drifted from the phone’s speakers. And there Sansa and Petyr were, dancing across the giant piano in the toy store, recreating the scene from ‘Big.’ 

“You’re a hit,” Arya told them proudly. “The comments are all disgustingly sweet. People love you.” When Sansa didn’t speak at first Arya frowned, uncertain. “I couldn’t decide what to get for you, but when I caught you two on video, it just seemed like the perfect gift had fallen in my lap. You’re famous Sans, and not just because you were once Joff’s fiancee. This time it’s for something good. And way more people know you now. Not just those in New York.”

Sansa smiled at her sister. “I love it. Thank you.”

 

* * *

 

Sansa and Petyr had just finished passing out the gifts they’d gotten for her family (smartwatches for everyone, their make depending on whether they had Androids or iPhones) and reassuring her parents that no, it wasn’t too much, when Margaery and Loras arrived, Myrcella and Renly in tow. Hugs were traded, and then Margaery and Petyr shared a conspiratorial look that Sansa didn’t fail to catch. She narrowed her eyes playfully. “What is it?” she begged Petyr, turning to Margaery instead when he just smirked at her. It had to have something to do with her Christmas gift. She just knew it.

Margaery grinned. “You’re gonna love it,” she promised.

Sansa turned back to Petyr, gaze entreating. The whole room had quieted, sensing that something big was coming. Was this finally it? Was he going to ask?

But what did Margaery have to do with it?

Margaery whispered something in Petyr’s ear and his smirk broadened as he took Sansa’s hand. “Come along sweetling. One of your presents awaits.”

Clearly intrigued, Sansa’s entire family, Olenna and Varys, and well  **_everyone_ ** , followed them out of the living room and to the entrance hall. And there in the middle of the floor was a large wrapped box topped with an enormous floppy red bow.

As they approached, Sansa swore she saw the box move. When a soft whine followed, she stopped, releasing Petyr’s hand to bring both to cover her mouth. “You didn’t!?”

He just smiled at her, those grey green eyes alight with mischief and warmth. So she took a step closer to the box, and then another. The box was trembling more fervently now, the bow wobbling above it. A whimper sounded from inside as Sansa dropped to her knees and gently lifted off the top of the box.

A white ball of fluff greeted her, eyes bright and curious, nose snuffling. Wiggling madly, the puppy rose up on its hind legs, its paws resting on the edge of the box, nearly tipping it over. A tongue shot out, tasting her fingers.

A dog. 

Petyr had gotten her a dog.

She couldn’t believe it.

Wordlessly she scooped the puppy into her arms, receiving a face full of kisses in the process. Her eyes dipped closed, her heart overwhelmed.

This wasn’t a ring. But oh, it was almost as good. Petyr wasn’t an animal person. She knew that. And yet he’d done this for her. Because he knew she wanted a dog. And clearly he was willing to do absolutely anything to make her happy.

He’d even done his research, somehow. This was a Great Pyrenees puppy. Sansa loved all dogs, but she’d always wanted a Great Pyrenees. Pure white and fluffy and so, so beautiful.  

An arm slipped around her shoulders and Sansa opened her eyes to see Petyr crouching next to her. The puppy lunged, her tongue swiping across his cheek, but he didn’t recoil, pressing his lips to Sansa’s temple instead. “Merry Christmas, my love.”

 

* * *

 

Everything after that was overshadowed by the puppy, which Sansa had wasted very little time in christening ‘Lady.’ Right and Left were less than pleased, making themselves scarce despite the lure of the tree and an absurd amount of discarded wrapping paper and ribbon. But everyone else seemed entranced, particularly Arya who couldn’t hold back the jealousy that kept coloring her voice. Even Varys had remarked on how beautiful the breed was, which prompted Petyr to reveal that Lady was indeed a purebred, purchased from a reputable (and most importantly - for she would never have allowed otherwise -  **_ethical_ ** ) breeder. Lady apparently had quite the pedigree, her own father with quite the extensive career in dog shows. 

The puppy had a lot of fun romping around in the clouds of wrapping paper before Sansa caught her trying to eat some and Cat ordered her siblings (save Arya, who was exempt, just as Sansa was) to clean up the mess. Of course more gifts had yet to be unwrapped, but the Tyrells were much less exuberant in their unwrapping than Sansa’s own family. More like Sansa herself, in fact. She’d always driven Arya crazy by the way she unwrapped gifts - carefully removing the tape and peeling back the wrappings whenever possible, rather than just ripping into it like ‘a normal person.’

Petyr had gotten her more than just the puppy, she soon found out. Along with a few essentials for caring for a dog (bowls for water and food, puppy food, treats, a dog bed and blanket, a crate, bones, a collar and a leash, and even a few toys), he’d promised to take her shopping to buy whatever else she wanted for Lady, bought her an exceedingly rare edition of The Princess Bride (the book), and somehow retrieved a recording of their dance at the LASE charity gala last summer. He’d even framed a newspaper clipping for her of the photo that had appeared in the paper afterwards. And he’d secured a flashdrive of all the photos that had been taken that night, sorting through them in order to find each and every photo that featured the two of them, or even of just her on her own.

She felt her own gifts for him rather paled in comparison, but didn’t really mind. He loved spoiling her, and in truth she loved being spoiled. She’d gotten him a silver frame engraved with the words to Heart and Soul, her favorite photograph of the two of them already inside. There was a new leather jacket too, that she hadn’t been able to resist buying for him, imagining what he’d look like wearing it. And she’d picked him up a new spice rack, as she’d accidentally broken his a week ago (technically it had been both of their faults, for using the counter like that, but she still felt bad).  

By the time they’d all finished opening gifts and oohing and ahhing over their gains, it was nearly lunchtime. They all scrambled to clean up, those who hadn’t dressed yet hurrying off to change, the rest hustling to the kitchen to start cooking. Sansa stayed on the couch with Lady in her lap, Petyr by her side, and the rest of the Tyrells (and Myrcella and Renly) seated around the the tree, her family insistent that they do all the cooking, to make up for any inconvenience. Conversation was quiet, everyone all too aware of what was coming. 

**_Who_ ** was coming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Great Pyrenees are gorgeous dogs, and they are one of my favorite breeds. I think Sansa would love them too, and that they'd be a good interpretation of a modern version of Lady. Hopefully you agree :).


	57. Chapter 57

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Tullys come for lunch.

The tension in the air was thickening with each minute that passed, bringing them closer and closer to a reunion that Petyr and his entire family would have rather have avoided for the rest of their lives, were it not for Sansa. For her, they would bear it, and whatever trials it brought. Fortunately, his family loved Sansa just as much as he did. Enough to deal with the Starks and the Tullys on Christmas Day.

And enough to hold their tongues whenever possible, in order to keep the peace, despite their usual inclination towards candor.

Beside him on the couch, Sansa was cuddling Lady, who was dozing in her lap, worn out from spending over an hour playing with - and trying to eat - bits of wrapping paper and ribbon. She’d been absolutely floored when she’d seen the puppy, and still looked it. Like she couldn’t believe he’d actually gotten her a dog.

It was cute how shocked she was, and though a part of him might have instinctively taken it as a slight against his character (of course he would get her a dog. He’d do anything for her), he knew her shock wasn’t solely because of him.

His confirmation of that came soon enough:

"Did Varys agree to this?" Sansa asked, her voice lowered so that only Petyr could hear her.

"He did, but she won't be staying with him the majority of the time," Petyr replied. Sansa furrowed her brow, looking confused, and he smiled. "That is, unless you'd rather not move in quite yet." He'd been planning on asking her, dog or not. She spent most nights at his place anyway (even she had to admit his bed was far superior to her own), and with the big question days away and the promise of living together on the horizon (if she accepted), it was an inevitability he thought he'd speed up a bit.

She raised her eyebrows, a mixture of surprise and skepticism in her eyes even as a smile tipped her lips. "You're okay with a dog in your apartment?"

"As long as I get you in the bargain, yes."

Her smile broadened. "Okay."

He grinned back. “Yes?”

Sansa laughed, the sound light and unencumbered. “Yes. Of course.” She leaned over and kissed him, upsetting the dog splayed on her lap. Lady gazed up at them both reproachfully, then lowered her head once more, obviously still too wiped out. The pup was young enough that as hard as she played, sleep always dominated her days far more than that of an adult dog. 

“Right and Left will still have to get used to her though,” Olenna commented, clearly having listened in on the entire exchange. “Petyr and I figured you’d just bring her along to Varys’ when you come over every day to help me with my exercises and the like.”

“And you’re okay with that?” Sansa asked. “With me moving out, I mean.”

“Of course,” Olenna assured her. “We’ll certainly miss you, but we both knew this was coming.”

“I’m just surprised he waited this long,” Varys said, sneaking a cookie from the tin Sansa’s family had gotten him. 

Petyr rolled his eyes. “Hasn’t been that long, dear brother.”

“Oh admit it, you’ve wanted to ask her every question couples ask each other since the moment you clapped eyes on her,” Varys said, biting into his cookie and then looking down in dismay as it dusted his sweater with crumbs. 

Served him right.

“Stuff it,” Olenna told Varys, swatting at him with a hand. “There’s no need to make trouble. We’ve enough of it coming, more than like.”

Sansa’s face fell at that, and she glanced anxiously at the clock. “Shouldn’t be long now.”

“I’m sure it will all be fine,” Margaery said soothingly. 

Myrcella nodded encouragingly beside her. “Can’t be any worse than the LASE Company Christmas party, anyway.”

Renly and Loras laughed, but Varys just shook his head. “I wouldn’t be so sure.”

“It’ll be fine,” Petyr told Sansa, ignoring his brother. “I’ve never met Roslin, but I always liked Brynden. He’s got a good head on his shoulders.” He’d left out Edmure, which Sansa obviously noticed, but she chose not to press the matter further. She knew he’d never really cared for Edmure, who’d always been a bit of a bully as a child, despite being good friends with the gentle hearted Mace (Petyr had always thought that friendship rather incongruous). Edmure had never had much sense, either.

But perhaps he’d changed. Petyr doubted it, but stranger and less likely things had happened. 

“Yes, I always did like Brynden too,” Olenna mused. “He was a good friend, and a great help, years ago.” In convincing Hoster not to murder Petyr, she meant. After Lysa had revealed her pregnancy and intent to marry him, to everyone in her family. 

Brynden had helped too, when Lysa had lost the baby and Petyr had divorced her. Helped keep his niece away from him. Helped keep the peace. He’d even had Lysa sent to rehab across the country, where she’d met Jon Arryn and married him out of a desperate hope to get out and come back to torture Petyr some more. Brynden well knew what Lysa was capable of, and what she had done, and he did his best to keep her leashed, with Jon Arryn’s help (the gods only knew what had attracted the man to Lysa. The drugs she heavily imbibed in had stolen any looks she’d once had, and her personality certainly left a lot to be desired). 

Yes, Petyr liked Brynden very much. Even with Olenna and Luthor backing him, Brynden had been instrumental in helping clean up the mess that had torn their two families apart. He was a good man, with far more sense than Edmure and Lysa combined. The best of the Tullys, in fact.

Apart from Cat, of course. Though she too had lost most of her luster. Betrayal had a way of doing that. And the years spent apart, with her in the company of Ned Stark and his family, their influence changing her.

Or perhaps he’d never truly seen her for what she was, too focused on the dream girl he’d built her up to be. 

Either way it didn’t matter. She hadn’t been right for him. But Sansa was. He knew he saw Sansa straight down to her core, every facet, every perfection and flaw and idiosyncrasy. And he loved her for everything she was, and everything she wasn’t. His heart and soul.

The doorbell rang and Sansa stiffened beside him, her eyes anxious as they found his.

They were here.

Steps thundered to the door, Cat and Ned calling out to their youngest with reminders that they were ‘guests in this house, and should act accordingly,’ as they too hurried to greet Edmure, Roslin, and Brynden. Olenna and the rest of Petyr’s family stayed seated, but he rose from the couch with Sansa (leaving Lady in the care of Margaery and Myrcella), her hand gripping his in a silent expression of anxiety, and they slowly made their way out into the entrance hall.

Time hadn’t been all that kind to Edmure, who’d ballooned out at the middle either from overindulgence or prolonged, chronic idleness, but the woman by his side was about ten years his junior and quite pretty (far out of Edmure’s league, in truth, Petyr thought). Brynden looked good, if tired and a great deal more wrinkled than the last time Petyr had seen him. Sansa held back as her family exchanged hugs with the new arrivals, and Petyr stayed by her side, only there to support her, and nothing else.

There were several choruses of “Merry Christmas” and “It’s so good to see you,” and “My, how you’ve grown since I last saw you!”, and then Cat glanced over and saw Sansa hanging back and silently gestured for her to come closer. Sansa’s grip on his hand tightened, but she heeded her mother’s call, the chatter quieting as she approached.

Edmure’s lips cracked into a wide grin. “Gods, Sansa is that you? Quite a change from the little girl I used to bounce on my knee at family reunions, aren’t you?”

Sansa’s own smile was tentative. “Good to see you, Uncle Edmure.” She paused. “You remember Petyr, I’m sure, right?”

Petyr tilted his chin in Edmure’s direction, an easy smile upon his lips that betrayed none of the true sentiments he was actively repressing. “It has been awhile, hasn’t it?”

Edmure laughed, the sound tinged with unease, his eyes flicking between Petyr and Sansa. “Of course,” he assured his niece, then added, “Though I was surprised to hear how our two families decided to come together, this Christmas. Who’d have thought - “

“Who’d have thought, that after all this time, the rift has finally begun to heal,” Brynden interrupted, cutting off Edmure before he could say something stupid and make things even more intolerable than they already were. Petyr had no doubt that Edmure had been about to say something like, ‘who’d have thought you’d end up with Cat’s daughter, after professing your love for her, then impregnating and marrying her sister.’ Which, while true, hardly needed saying, and would certainly have proven incendiary in present company.

“Indeed,” Cat agreed. “We’re better for it. We’ve been having a wonderful Christmas with the Tyrells.”

Brynden gazed fondly around the entrance hall. “It is good to see the place again. Olenna is here, I hope?”

“She is,” Petyr told him. “She and the others held back, not wanting to intrude on your family reunion. They’re in the living room, along with Renly and Myrcella Baratheon, who are dating my nephew and niece, respectively.”

Edmure’s red brows raised at that. “I think you meant that the other way around.”

Sansa affected a lighthearted laugh that made Petyr’s heart swell with pride. She was so good at that, reining in her true feelings to maintain an air of politeness. “No, he didn’t.” She turned to the girl hovering by Edmure’s side. “You must be Roslin. It’s good to meet you.” 

Roslin smiled. “It’s good to meet you too. I hear you’re living in Manhattan?”

Sansa’s hand twitched in his, revealing the guilt she felt at not visiting with her family despite their proximity, but her smile remained firmly in place. “Yes. That’s how I met Petyr, in fact. I went to school with his niece, Margaery, and when I needed a job, and her grandmother needed a physical therapist, she recommended me.”

“Oh, you’re in the medical field too, how wonderful,” Roslin said warmly. “That’s how I met Edmure. I’m part of the staff that helps care for your grandfather.”

“The only good thing that’s come from him getting sick,” Edmure said, nodding gravely. 

“Alright, come now, let’s move away from the door, shall we?” Cat called, bustling over to them, Ned by her side with Brynden’s coat slung over one arm. “Edmure, Roslin, you can hand over your coats to Ned, and then follow the kids to the dining room. Lunch will be ready shortly, and there’s hors d'oeuvres already set out on the table.”

 

* * *

 

Rather than join Edmure and Roslin and the youngest Starks in the dining room as they stood around awkwardly and picked at spinach dip, cheese ball and raw veggies, Petyr and Sansa returned to the living room to check on Lady. The pup was absent, however, outside romping in the snow with Margaery, Myrcella, Renly and Loras. Only Olenna and Varys remained, quietly talking to Brynden, who had clearly remembered the layout of the house from the many times he had visited with Luthor and Olenna before everything had gone to hell. They’d been good friends, at one time, oft joined by Hoster when his health hadn’t been so detrimental to his life and well being.

Brynden had even attended the funeral they’d held for Luthor, Alerie, and Mace - the only one of the Tullys that had even bothered, in fact. Though perhaps the rest were too scared of Olenna’s wrath to attempt it.

“I hear my great niece is providing your physical therapy these days,” Brynden was saying.

Olenna glanced up, catching Sansa’s eye as she smiled. “Yes. Doing a wonderful job of it too, even if I give her hell for it.”

Sansa laughed. “Don’t you believe a word she says, she’s an excellent patient.”

“A suspect statement if I ever heard one,” Varys said dryly.

“I don’t think so,” said Petyr. “See, she actually likes Sansa, so she doesn’t give her as hard of a time as she would for say, you.”

Varys snorted. “Or you.”

Petyr smirked. “Not denying that.”

“Oh stop, you know I love you both,” Olenna chastised them, then smirked too. “I just like Sansa better than I do either of you.”

“And who can blame you for that.” Petyr kissed Sansa on the cheek, her skin reddened from so many compliments thrown her way.

“Glad to hear you’re flourishing so well,” Brynden told her. “You couldn’t have befriended a better family.”

“She’s as good as family now,” Olenna said, gesturing towards the bird ornaments clustered together on the tree. “Just a matter of time, I think.” She winked at Petyr.

The color in Sansa’s cheeks deepened as Brynden looked to her, intrigued, his eyes flicking down briefly to her left hand, its ring finger still devoid of claim. A few more days and that would change. But no one was meant to know that, yet.

“There you are,” said Cat, bustling into the living room. “Lunch is ready, if you’re hungry. I counted the chairs, and there’ll be enough space for everyone to sit together.”

Olenna nodded and gripped the handle of her cane, using it to rise from her chair. “Someone better tell those outside,” she tossed over her shoulder to Varys as she hobbled towards the hall.

“They’re already gathered in the dining room,” Cat assured Olenna, falling into step next to her. “I sent Arya out for them.”

Petyr and Sansa were the last to depart the living room, lingering just a bit so Sansa could collect herself. He pulled her into his arms and held her close for a moment, his breath stirring her loose curls, then stepped back and smiled at her reassuringly. “It’s going well.” Minus Edmure’s near faux pas, anyway.

“So far,” she agreed.

His hand found hers. “Ready?”

Hesitation flickered in her eyes but she nodded. “Ready.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked it! For those hoping for drama, it's coming, I promise. You'll see what I mean at the end of the next chapter ;)


	58. Chapter 58

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa visits with her grandfather.

Overall, lunch wasn’t too bad. The food was good and plentiful (honey baked ham, creamy cheesy potatoes, honey roasted carrots and parsnips, rosemary buttered rolls), the people gathered among those Sansa loved best in the world, and the flow of conversation far better than expected. Lady snuffled around their feet, prowling for crumbs as they talked and ate and even laughed, and it almost felt like a normal Christmas, free from the strains of the past.

Almost.

There were close calls, of course. Mainly instigated by Sansa’s Uncle Edmure, who apparently had a tendency of saying just the wrong thing at just the wrong moment, his mind absent of the common sense most everyone else present had. But her Great Uncle Brynden was always quick to divert the conversation onto safer topics whenever they strayed near dangerous territory, years of practice at his disposal a most welcome boon. And everyone else, Olenna included, was doing their best to remain polite, holding their tongues even when their eyes flashed in annoyance.

Petyr, too, was on his best behavior, not even baiting her father, though Sansa knew he sorely wanted to (luckily he’d gotten a lot of it out of his system last night, during the Stark Winter Games. She still blushed to think of it). He was doing what he could to keep the peace, and oh how she loved him for that restraint. It was all for her, and she well knew it. He was so good to her.

After lunch, they all lingered for awhile, picking at desserts, then Cat received a phone call and announced that Hoster was awake and ready to start visiting with people. Robb and Jeyne and Cat and Arya were the first to leave, Edmure and Roslin walking back with them while Brynden stayed behind. Sansa watched them go with her heart in her throat, knowing that soon she’d be by her grandfather’s side, and wondering if he’d even know the girl standing before him.

Luwin arrived shortly after, there by invitation from Olenna. A brief spark of jealousy flared in his eyes when he spotted her talking with Brynden, but it soon dissipated when she kissed him hello. Thereafter she talked mainly with Luwin, as Brynden made the rounds, talking with Bran and Rickon and Ned and Varys, then Sansa some more as she sat on the floor playing with Lady, her back against Petyr’s legs, Margaery and Myrcella by her side.

She could see why Petyr and Olenna liked him so much. He was easy to talk to, and no stranger to discordance within the family, the so called black sheep (or Blackfish, as they called him) within his own. Sansa liked too that he seemed very accepting of her relationship with Petyr, and how well they both seemed to get on, carrying on the conversation after she got too distracted with the puppy in her lap and her own nerves about seeing Hoster.

Robb, Jeyne and Arya returned, and Ned took Bran and Rickon with him in the next shift over to see Hoster. He’d asked Sansa if she was ready to come too, but she declined, deciding she’d rather go on her own, with Petyr by her side, and perhaps her mother. The less people there to witness her grandfather’s disappointment, the better. She didn’t know if he’d recognize her, or remember Petyr or what had happened, but if he did, she knew he wouldn’t be happy to learn of their relationship. It would be better if she visited with Hoster alone, in truth, just in case, but she couldn’t bear to do it without Petyr. Even if he just stood there silently beside her, his presence would make her feel better. She’d draw strength from him, just as she always did.

When her father returned with Bran and Rickon (who was half covered in snow), he offered to walk with her over to the Tully mansion but she shook her head as she shrugged on her coat. “I’ll be fine. Petyr knows the way.”

Ned looked like he wanted to object to Petyr going with her, his lips parting, but he closed his mouth, pressing his lips in a firm line, deciding against it. A good move. She was resolved. She needed him there with her, even if might make things harder.

Petyr appeared in the entrance hall, the leather jacket she’d gifted him that morning slung over one arm. “You sure you want me to come, sweetling?”

“Yes.” Sansa pulled on her gloves, then wound her scarf around her neck.

“Okay.” He pulled on his jacket, and she was pleased to see if fit perfectly. 

“Be careful,” Ned advised. “It’s a bit slippery out there. The front steps of Hoster’s home were salted, but there’s a patch they missed. Rickon found it earlier.”

“I will,” Sansa promised, turning as Petyr eased the door open behind her. “I’ll see you when I get back.”

Ned smiled at her, but didn’t leave, watching by the door as she and Petyr made their way down the porch steps and to the sidewalk. She paused to give her father a little wave, her other hand clasped with Petyr’s, and then they began to walk, their footsteps crunching in the snow. It was late afternoon, the sky already beginning to darken, the sun weak against winter’s assault. Snow gently fell, the flakes stirring in a gentle wind. The air was sharp in her nose and lungs, its bite shocking her food dulled brain into alertness. 

Neither of them spoke until they reached the Tully manor, Petyr only breaking the silence to pull her away from the patch of ice on the third step from the top of the porch. The door was closed against the chill and Sansa wasn’t entirely comfortable about just letting herself in, so she knocked, and they waited, shivering, while Cat came to answer it.

“My, it’s gotten even colder, hasn’t it?” Cat asked, quickly shooing them both inside.

“Probably,” said Petyr, releasing Sansa’s hand so he could remove his gloves. He shook his head. “I hate winter.”

“That makes two of us,” said Cat. “Ned loves it though. As do most of the kids, except for Sansa. She’s more of a summer child. Or rather, spring.” 

Sansa tried to smile as she removed her coat, but her lips wouldn’t bend. Her mother took her jacket, resting a warm palm against her cheek for just a moment. “Don’t worry, sunshine. He’s in good spirits today.”

Once their jackets were hung in the hall closet, Cat led them upstairs, knocking gently on a dark paneled door before turning the handle. “Father? You have another visitor.”

“Catelyn?” Hoster’s voice was weak, barely more than a whisper.

Cat smiled, slipping into the room. Sansa followed her, still clutching Petyr’s hand. “Yes, Father. Look who I’ve brought with me. Remember my eldest daughter? Sansa?”

Sansa found the willpower to smile, though her lips fought to rebel against her wishes. Her grandfather looked so frail, hunched in his elevated bed, blankets bundled around his wafer thin frame. His skin was pale and papery, mottled with age spots, wrinkles gathering around every joint and juncture. He looked far older than his years, chronic illness wasting away his body. 

Hoster peered up at her through squinted lids. “Sansa? But this is a young woman….” He coughed, phlegm rattling in his throat, then beckoned Sansa closer. Lips cracked into a grin as recognition bloomed in his eyes. “She’s your daughter, that’s for sure. That hair… Those eyes. Such a beautiful girl.”

Tears pricked her eyes. “Hello, grandfather.”

Hoster reached out, grasping her free hand. “Sit, child,” he wheezed. “Come, talk with me. Indulge an old man.”

Sansa did as he asked, releasing Petyr’s hand as there was only one chair on the side where she stood. Petyr went to stand behind her instead, and Cat flashed her a smile before excusing herself and closing the door softly behind her. “Merry Christmas,” Sansa told Hoster, unsure what to say next.

Hoster smiled. “So they tell me.” He coughed again, his eyes flicking up to where Petyr stood. “And who’s this?”

Sansa’s chest tightened. She glanced up at Petyr, uncertain, then turned back to her grandfather. “He’s my boyfriend. Petyr.”

“Boyfriend, huh?” Hoster chuckled. “I suppose you’d be about that age. Hope he’s treating you well.”

The knot in her chest loosened. Hoster didn’t recognize him then. “Yes.”

“Good.” Hoster nodded approvingly, then craned his neck, seeking out Petyr’s gaze. “You have a good job, son?”

Sansa tried not to wince. Well, he  _ had _ had a good job. If you could call working for the Lannisters good. It had paid well, at least. And she supposed Petyr still had his club. The revenue from that alone would keep them both living comfortably for quite awhile (gods, with everything going on, she’d almost forgotten he’d asked her to move in with him!), and that didn’t even account for his countless investments in lucrative stocks. Not to mention, she was certain he wouldn’t remain unemployed for long. He really wasn’t meant for idleness.

“I make a very respectable living,” Petyr said smoothly, avoiding lying through the use of carefully chosen words. He was so good at that. She shouldn’t have been proud of it, but she was.

“And you’ll take care of her?” Hoster pressed further, as if he were already well aware of how serious their relationship had gotten. Perhaps he could just see it, in the way they were together, remaining in close contact even here, his hands resting lightly upon her shoulders, the tension she’d held there lessening with their weight.

“She’ll want for nothing,” Petyr promised.

Hoster gazed up at him appraisingly, then nodded. “I believe it,” he declared, before turning back to Sansa. “Now tell me, dear girl, how has life been treating you, hmm? Finished your schooling yet?”

 

* * *

 

Sansa spent an hour with her grandfather before his eyelids began to droop and she took pity on him, promising to visit again soon. She was overjoyed with how well it had gone, and how wonderful it had been to talk to him, her heart full of plans to stop by more frequently, to check in on him as she should have been doing all this time. Petyr led her downstairs again, and they found her mother with Edmure and Roslin in the sitting room, talking over cups of coffee.

Cat stopped mid sentence as they entered, setting her coffee cup on the stand next to her chair. “How did it go?”

“Good. He seemed to know me. We had a nice talk.” Sansa perched gingerly on the couch, her former ease stolen as all eyes settled on her. Petyr sat down next to her, his hand finding the small of her back, rubbing soothing circles into her skin and the muscles beneath.

Cat nodded. “We’ve lucked out. Today’s a good day for him. He’s not always this clear of mind and memory.”

Sansa bit her lip, remembering how upset her mother had been yesterday night. How she’d said he’d barely recognized her. “How often does he have good days?”

Cat turned to Edmure, her eyes questioning, but Roslin answered instead. “It varies. But he still has more good days than bad, I think. That won’t last much longer though. The sicker he gets physically, the more his mind declines.” She paused. “Today he’s been better than I’ve seen him in quite awhile. I think seeing you all helped him. That and we’ve been trying a new medication therapy. Perhaps it’s working.”

“I hope so,” Sansa said softly. She’d liked talking with Hoster today. Very much. And hated that she’d lost precious time with him due to fear and life’s other distractions. 

“He’ll likely be out for the rest of the day,” Cat said apologetically, seeking out Roslin’s gaze for confirmation as she spoke. Roslin nodded. “It takes very little to wear him out these days. But Edmure and Roslin will come back to Olenna’s with us.”

Sansa nodded, then opened her mouth — about to ask if they’d be heading out now — only to hear the sound of a door opening. But…. But no one else was supposed to come by today….

Unless it was Brynden?

Edmure's mouth dipped in a frown. "Was that the front door?"

A rush of cold washed over them, the air from outside creeping in, stealing beneath the layers of clothing they'd all donned.

Cat looked perturbed. "It must have been. But I thought...."

A voice called out then, unnaturally loud and full of cheer that didn't quite hold its warmth. 

"Father? Uncle Brynden? Edmure? I'm home!"

Sansa’s heart seized.

Oh gods.

Oh no.

It couldn’t be....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dun dun dun....
> 
> Excited to hear your thoughts! Been working hard on the next chapter, and I think you'll like how it all plays out :). Trying to make sure the drama is worth the build up lol.


	59. Chapter 59

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little Christmas Drama.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: references to nonconsensual sex

The chill Petyr felt had little to do with the cold winds stealing through the front door — which had clearly been left ajar — and everything to do with the woman who had opened it. It was completely characteristic of Lysa to do something like that, striding in uninvited with little regard to anyone but herself or of property that wasn't hers. Ice stole into his veins, freezing him in place as Lysa called out again.

“Hello? Anyone home?”

Gods, how he loathed her, every word that screeched from her lips, every clack of her heels against the wood floors, every memory they’d ever made together, still lingering in his mind like the mind worms they were. It was an effort not to grit his teeth or show any other outwards signs of distress as all eyes inevitably swept his way.

“I’ve brought presents!” Lysa’s voice seemed to echo throughout the house, rattling his very bones.

Beside him, Sansa looked horrified, her expression nearly mirrored on Cat’s face. Roslin stared at the floor, clearly uncomfortable, while Edmure looked a bit like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Of course….

How could Petyr have expected otherwise? It had been foolish to think they’d have a holiday free of Lysa — especially since everything else had gone surprisingly well thus far.

Sansa was the first to recover. “What is she doing here?” she hissed at her mother, obviously outraged on his behalf.

Cat shook her head, bewildered. “I… I don’t know.” She turned to Edmure. “You didn’t tell me Lysa was coming.”

Edmure swallowed. “She, ah, wasn’t supposed to.” He cleared his throat. “That is, I didn’t invite her, or anything. I did call her, this morning. To wish her a Merry Christmas.” His eyes darted around as he spoke, never settling on anyone or anything for too long. “I, uh, might have mentioned that you were all here, visiting.”

Cat groaned. “You didn’t.”

Edmure winced. “I never thought — ”

“Clearly you don’t think at all,” Sansa snapped, rising to her feet. “Come on,” she urged Petyr. “We can still leave before she sees you.”

Footsteps echoed down the hall, three sets. So close.

Too close.

“No, we can’t,” he said grimly, standing anyway. The better to dodge Lysa, if need be.

Who was he kidding? Of course he’d need such a precaution. That woman was like a leech. The second she saw him she’d latch on and begin sucking the very life out of him.

Cat stood too, and Edmure, who at least had the decency to look ashamed of himself. Roslin hovered anxiously by his side, her expression revealing complete ignorance of the depth of the moment — it was plain to see that Edmure hadn’t relayed that particular part of his family’s past.

Two seconds passed, the last two Petyr thought he might ever have (okay, that was probably a bit dramatic, but right now he felt like being dramatic), and then hell descended upon them in the form of Lysa Arryn.

 

* * *

 

He’d barely gotten a glimpse of what seemed to be her attempt at a sexy Mrs. Claus outfit (a skin tight red dress cut far too low in the bust and far too short in the hem, both trimmed with white fur) before she’d let out a shriek like a howler monkey.

“Petyr!”

Lysa hurtled forward, clearly intent on mauling him with a hug (or worse), but Sansa was quick to block her path. “What are you doing here?” Her voice was like ice, with a bite to it that Petyr had never heard before, even when she’d dealt with Joffrey and Cersei the other night.

“Sansa!” Lysa tried to hug her niece, but Sansa artfully sidestepped her. “It’s been so long, hasn’t it? How are you?” Even as she spoke — words saccharine, sickeningly sweet, yet not without a painfully sour edge to them — her eyes kept darting to Petyr. She knew. Oh yes, she knew. And while his relationship with Sansa had never been a secret, it would have been far better if Lysa had never known the truth of it.

Petyr didn’t doubt Sansa could hold her own against Lysa, but he still didn’t want to find out. Or even risk chancing it. “Sorry, but we were just leaving.” Deliberately, he took Sansa’s hand, watching as jealousy flared in Lysa’s eyes. It would be best not to provoke her too much, but he needed to impress upon her that whatever hopes she might have had for their reunion were entirely futile. A delicate, treacherous balance, where Lysa was concerned, but he’d trodden it before.

It wasn’t likely she’d ever give up — sadly this wasn’t his ego speaking, as years had reinforced this thought — but if he could just keep her rage at bay and away from Sansa long enough to escape, he’d count it as a success.

Lysa pouted, stamping a foot, the heel of her ridiculous white fluffed shoe clacking against the hardwood floor. “What do you mean you’re leaving?” she whined. “I only just got here.”

“To see your family, who I’m certain will be happy to entertain you,” Petyr said smoothly, squeezing Sansa’s hand as they edged their way to the exit.

“But I came to see **_you_ **!”

“You knew he was here?” Jon Arryn sounded genuinely angry. He hadn’t known, then.

“I… no! Of course not!” Lysa faltered. “Edmure told me Cat was visiting. That’s why I wanted to come, sweetheart. I didn’t know Petyr would be here.”

“You just said you came to see him!”

Good. Lysa was getting distracted now. Perhaps they’d make it out.

“I didn’t! I swear it! He means nothing to me!”

“And that’s why I received phone calls this summer, with a court order for you to be removed from the Mockingbird’s premises, hmm? The police wound up getting involved! No, I’ve had it. If I had known this was why you wanted to come, I would never have agreed to it! Do you even know how much you’ve cost me in legal bills alone?”

“I’m bored,” Robin moaned, tugging on his mother’s arm.

Lysa swooped down on her son, all else momentarily forgotten. “What about your phone? I thought you were watching your show?”

“It died,” he whined, stamping his foot. He was really far too old for such antics. As was his mother….

They’d never get a better chance. Petyr seized it, and they were out the door in seconds, leaving their coats behind — including the leather jacket Sansa had gotten him. He hated to leave it, but he’d ask Cat to get their coats later. Or come back after Lysa had left. Grabbing them now wasn’t worth the risk.

“Are you okay?” Sansa asked, as they hurried back to Olenna’s. In truth, they probably weren’t much safer there, as Lysa surely remembered where Olenna lived, where he’d grown up, but he hoped Jon and Cat would be enough to detain her.

“I’m fine.”

“Really?” She didn’t sound convinced. He didn’t blame her. But honestly? Now that he was no longer in the same room with Lysa, he really did feel fine.

Well, other than the fact that it was cold as balls out here. Fuck. He missed that leather jacket. And his gloves.

At least they hadn’t taken off their shoes….

Sansa squeezed his hand and he realized he hadn’t answered her. “I’m fine,” he reiterated. “Really.”

But he must not have looked it, for Olenna immediately knew something was wrong when she saw them. “What’s going on?” she demanded. “What happened?”

Petyr didn’t see any sense in beating around the bush. She’d find out anyway. “Lysa’s here.”

Margaery gave a sharp intake of breath as the rest of the room, full to bursting with Starks, Tyrells, and their significant others, went unnaturally still. Olenna’s eyes flashed, and she was up on her feet faster than Petyr had ever seen her move before. “This ends now,” she seethed, out of the room before he could even blink.

Fuck.

**_Fuck._ **

Oh, this didn’t bode well. But he’d be lying if he wasn’t looking forward to it. Lysa would be a smear on the pavement once Olenna had finished with her. She’d only lasted this long because Olenna hadn’t seen her since she’d found out — they’d gone through Brynden as a mediator, as Olenna hadn’t trusted herself enough to be in Lysa’s presence. Her rage then had been incomparable.

Almost as virulent as it was now, in fact.

Still holding Sansa’s hand, and heedless of the cold, Petyr followed his mother outside, the rest of the household close behind.

Everyone wanted to watch.

By the time they reached the Tully manor again, a cab was lingering by the curb, and Jon Arryn was loading the luggage into the trunk, helped by the cabbie and Edmure. Apparently Lysa had seen fit to bring as much as the Starks had, despite how little her family numbered in comparison.

Lysa was nowhere to be seen, but Roslin hovered uncertainly on the porch, her eyes widening as she spotted Olenna, an enraged bird leading her flock on the warpath. “Where is she?” Olenna demanded of Edmure, fiercely intimidating in spite of her short stature and the cane in her right hand.

Alarmed, Edmure stumbled back as she approached, dropping the bag he was carrying. It hit the sidewalk and burst open, vomiting an array of colorful, lacy undergarments. Petyr’s stomach turned. The thought of Lysa in lingerie….

Gods.

He’d only ever had sex with her once. Willingly. During their brief marriage, when he’d been trying to make it work, for the sake of the child that had been his only ray of hope at the time. The other time, where he’d been too drunk to even know it was her, where she’d gotten pregnant, didn’t count. Both times haunted him equally.

She repulsed him. In every aspect. In part because of what she’d done. And in part because of who she was, how she acted. How much she’d wasted away over the years was only the icing on the cake. Or rather, the final drawback to an already wholly unappealing prospect.

“In… in the house,” Edmure stammered, still fleeing from Olenna, luggage forgotten.

The front door opened, expelling the very subject of Olenna’s wrath. Teetering on those absurd heels, Lysa pulled her son after her, mouth drawn tight, Cat following in her wake. Cat’s face was wan, her voice strained as she spoke. “I told you, he’s resting. He’s had a long day.”

“I still don’t see why I couldn’t see him! Don’t you think he’d want to see his dearest daughter?” No. And hardly.

“He’s not well — ” Cat said, then faltered as she spied Olenna marching towards her, and Petyr, Sansa and the rest all gathered on the snow covered lawn, gawking.

“You could have woken him up,” Lysa insisted, ignorant of what was happening, her grip on her son’s hand loosening in her distraction. Freed of his mother’s grasp, Robin sulked over to where the taxi was still idling by the curb and slipped inside, uncaring of anything that wasn’t on the portable game system he’d procured in the minutes since Petyr had last seen him. “He would have wanted to see me!”

“No one present wanted to see you here,” Olenna spat, drawing even with Lysa at the bottom of the porch steps.

Lysa near toppled over in her surprise, her heels inadequate against the ice upon the ground and in Olenna’s voice. “What made you think you could show your face here again,” Olenna continued, her voice low and yet striking with far more impact than anything spoken with greater volume, “after what you’ve done to my son, to my family? To **_your_ ** family. You’ve torn us all apart, wrecked decades of friendship, and made every life worse for your having been in it.”

“You can’t talk to me that way,” said Lysa, indignant as she tried to hold her ground against the little old lady snarling at her.

“Oh, I can and I will,” Olenna said, gesturing menacingly with her cane, feet firmly planted, steadier than Petyr had seen her in a long time.

“I’ve done nothing wrong.” Lysa sniffed, refusing to back down. “If I hadn’t lost our dear, sweet baby, Petyr and I would still be married, in love and so happy together, raising our child.” Apparently she’d forgotten all about the denial she’d been affecting for Jon Arryn’s sake earlier. Instead she was well steeped in a different sort of denial.

“Nothing wrong? Nothing wrong?!” Olenna shook her head in disbelief. “I’ve never met someone so selfish, so wholly unconcerned with anyone but herself, whose very love poisons everyone it touches. You nearly destroyed my son, years ago, but he’s stronger, he’ll always be stronger, and whatever you will throw at him, he will rise above it. And now he has what you’ll never have. He’s found love and happiness with Sansa, and he will flourish while you continue to rot, dragging everyone close to you down with you.”

Olenna took a step closer, her tone turning venomous. “Come here again, or within a mile of my son or my family, and I’ll do whatever I can to end you. Your life will be ashes once I am through, and no one and nothing will be spared.”

 

* * *

 

Soon after Olenna’s verbal tirade (Queen of Thorns indeed. She was well worthy of the nickname Petyr and Varys had given her as children), Jon Arryn had Lysa and their son packed away in the cab and on their way back to the airport, where he’d already booked a flight back home. Lysa had been too stunned to make any sort of retort, and had gone far more meekly than Petyr had expected. As soon as the cab was out of sight, Olenna had demanded answers concerning why and how Lysa had come, and had promptly rounded on Edmure for his idiocy, treating him to an almost equally brutal lashing that no doubt vented some of her feelings about the fact that Edmure hadn’t attended Mace’s funeral, even though they’d once been very close.

After that, it wasn’t any wonder that Edmure chose to hide in his home for the duration of Christmas, his fiance tending to his wounded ego. Only Brynden returned to Olenna’s home with the rest of them, apologizing profusely for what had happened, and working with Petyr and Olenna (and Jon Arryn, via text) to make sure there wouldn’t be any repeats of today. It wasn’t long before they’d reached a mutual agreement — Lysa needed better care than Jon could currently give her, and she was treading on thin ice with law enforcement (and Olenna).

They decided it was best for her (and, well everyone, including her son, who had been coddled to the extreme and would benefit from getting out from under his mother’s influence) to be readmitted to the psychiatric facility she’d been in when she’d met Jon. Professionals likely couldn’t help her, but at least she could detox again (she was still using, having moved on from street drugs to prescription pills), and be contained. It was better than waiting until she landed herself in prison, which would certainly happen next time she sought out Petyr.

They’d been holding back before (in no small part due to Jon Arryn’s lawyers, who were almost as good as Petyr’s), but no more. Olenna was determined to be merciless. Lysa had already violated the terms of his restraining order countless times, and had contributed to the destruction of his private property more than once. They’d pour all the money they had into legally containing her, if that’s what it took. And would have done so, had Jon Arryn not agreed to have her put away.

If he were a more morally questionable man, he’d probably have just hired a hitman long ago and been done with it. And, in truth, he’d sometimes thought of it. But Olenna had raised him better than that.

And he had a life he wasn’t willing to risk fucking up, even to permanently be rid of Lysa.

When Brynden left, Petyr sought out an empty part of the house, needing solitude. There were too many people around, and frankly he was rather exhausted after everything that had happened. No one was in the music room, so he slipped inside, drifting over to the grand piano. It had been so many years, since he’d last played (excepting the giant floor piano at the toy store, which didn’t really count). At one point he’d spent a couple of hours several times a week, within these four walls. Learning how to play, Olenna by his side, turning the pages of his song booklet.

He ran a finger along one of the keys, pressing down to release a note.

“There you are.”

Petyr turned to see Sansa, one hand bundling Lady to her chest, the other carefully closing the door behind her. She’d been quiet, since the whole Lysa debacle. Never straying far from his side, but silent as he and his mother worked to ensure that nothing of the sort would ever happen again. Giving him space.

She knew him so well. How he disliked being vulnerable, even around her (though she saw more of that side of him than anyone else, by far). She knew he just wanted to get everything resolved and over with, as quickly as he could manage it, and that though she had plenty to offer in terms of help, the less people involved, the better. And the faster they could all move on from it and attempt to salvage their Christmas.

Or what was left of it, anyway.

Darkness had long since fallen. The moonlight lent an ethereal quality to the snowfall upon the ground, and to the flakes gently whispering on the wind.

Petyr took a seat on the piano bench, leaving enough room for Sansa to sit beside him. The puppy squirmed in her arms and swiped a tongue across his cheek. “Lady no!” Sansa scolded, but it was said with a grin. He just rolled his eyes at her, not really minding, not this time, not when it was **_her_ ** dog.

Or rather, **_their_ ** dog.

Giving up trying to restrain the pup (who’d gotten several more licks in), Sansa let Lady prowl around on the floor, instead turning her focus to the piano before her. Her fingers trailed along the keys for a moment, without purpose, then settled and began to play a familiar melody.

Smiling, he joined her, becoming the accompaniment. She leaned into his side, her smile lightening his heart. And when she began to sing, oh so softly, he sang too.

“Heart and soul, I fell in love with you,

Heart and soul, the way a fool would do,

Madly...

Because you held me tight,

And stole a kiss in the night...

 

“Heart and soul, I begged to be adored,

Lost control, and tumbled overboard,

Gladly...

That magic night we kissed,

There in the moon mist.

 

“Oh! but your lips were thrilling, much too thrilling,

Never before were mine so strangely willing.

 

“But now I see, what one embrace can do,

Look at me, it's got me loving you,

Madly...

That little kiss you stole,

Held all my heart and soul.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to tommyginger for the inspiration for Lysa’s outfit ;)
> 
> Well, there you have it. I'm not too confident about this chapter (drama really isn't my strong suit), but hopefully you all liked it. Thoughts appreciated :)


	60. Chapter 60

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christmas ends. Sansa, Petyr, and their families head back to the city, and the Starks enjoy their last day in New York.

They were so engrossed in the song that neither noticed they’d gained an audience, the door quietly opening as others sought out the music. Only Lady’s sudden burst of excited barking made them look up, and Sansa bit her lip, feeling embarrassed that they’d been caught in such a private, intimate moment. Not in the throes of passion, mind you, although that would have been far more horrifying. But she felt oddly exposed, knowing that others had watched something she’d thought would only be shared between her and Petyr.

“I thought I heard music,” Olenna commented, still lingering by the door. Her parents were there too. And Luwin. “It reminded me that with everything going on, Varys and I haven’t yet done our annual tradition. Thought we’d do that, then sing a few carols after, if anyone’s interested.”

“Robb and Jeyne are trying to round up everyone now,” Cat said, stooping to ruffle Lady’s fur as the pup snuffled around her ankles.

“Where’s Varys?” Petyr asked, standing and offering a hand to help Sansa to her feet. He didn’t look bothered by the interruption, though she knew he probably was. He was always so sweet to her, but being so vulnerable around others wasn’t easy for him.

“Getting himself a glass of sherry.” Olenna took the newly abandoned piano bench for her own. “Says he’ll need it, to get through this. Like he always does. But you and I both know better. A natural born performer, through and through. He loves the spotlight.”

“It’s more a protest against the sentimentality of it,” Varys drawled, gliding into the room.

“Oh, you love that too, and you know it. Now come and sing, my starling.”

“Yes, mother.” Though his tone was dry, Varys was smiling. He set his glass of sherry (still full, not a sip taken) on a nearby end table and stood next to the piano, his hands folded over his middle.

They waited until Margaery, Loras, Myrcella, and Renly joined them, and then Olenna began to play, accompanying Varys as he sang “Do You Hear What I Hear.” By the time they finished, the rest of Sansa’s family had joined them in the music room, and they all sang some Christmas carols together. Arya, Bran, and Rickon kept changing the lyrics to some of the songs (most notably, the popular Batman Smells version of Jingle Bells), and Sansa could tell Petyr wanted to roll his eyes at the cheesiness of it all, but it was fun, and a welcome change from the earlier turmoil. 

And, after all, Christmas was at its best (usually) with a bit of cheese.

 

* * *

 

Christmas ended on a much happier note, with everyone gathered together in the living room, sipping hot chocolate (Petyr stuck a candy cane in his — few were left on the tree now, in truth, and he had eaten most of them) and gorging themselves on sweet treats as they watched Christmas films new and old, award-winning and much, much less so. Sansa went to sleep tucked up in Petyr’s arms, Lady curled in hers, and despite the trials of the day she still had a smile on her lips as she drifted off.

The following morning was pure havoc, as her parents woke her siblings early in order to clean up the atrocious mess they’d all made the day before. Sansa tried to block out the noise of the vacuum — along with the none too quiet chatter of her siblings — but eventually she gave it up as a lost cause, even though Petyr had gotten up to take Lady out specifically to give her some extra shut eye. She groaned and got up, dressing in jeans and a soft sweater before slipping downstairs.

Luwin, Margaery, Loras, Myrcella, and Renly had all left late last night, so the house was a good deal less crowded than it had been yesterday, though really no less loud. Sansa found Petyr in the kitchen with Olenna, Lady whining at his feet, eyes on the platter of well picked over Christmas themed baked goods on the counter. The pup’s food bowl was about a foot from where she sat, full and yet untouched. Smiling indulgently, Sansa bent to pick the furball up, receiving several licks in the process.

“Your father kept telling them to be quiet, but obviously it’s fallen on deaf ears,” Petyr said, lifting his coffee cup to his lips.

“Usually mom’s better at discipline,” Sansa said, restraining a yawn as she rebuffed another lick from Lady.

“That explains it,” said Olenna. Sansa looked questioningly at the older woman. 

“Your mother’s visiting with her father,” Petyr explained. 

Right. Today was her family’s last full day in New York. They’d be heading back to the city soon, where they’d get in a few more hours’ sightseeing and family time before catching a early flight back home the next morning. 

“She sent word to your father,” Petyr continued. “Said Hoster’s not really up for a lot of company today. Yesterday really wore him out.”

“So no one else is going to see him?” Sansa asked, disappointed. She’d liked talking with her grandfather yesterday.

“Afraid not, sweetling. But you live close enough that you can drop by next time he’s in good spirits.”

Sansa smiled at him. She knew he held no love for her grandfather, or the Tullys in general (with the possible exception of Brynden, and maybe her mother, now that he’d been around Cat enough to hopefully help heal some of those old, poorly scabbed wounds), but he was trying to be supportive, for her sake. “That’s true. Though it may be awhile before I can find the time, since I’m moving and all.”

“You’re moving? Since when?”

Sansa turned to see her mother a few paces away, still in her winter coat. Shit. She’d have rather told her family over the phone or something, well after they’d gone home, so she didn’t have to deal with any more drama this week. Swallowing, she attempted a smile. “Since yesterday morning.”

Cat’s brow furrowed and Sansa looked to Petyr, gaze entreating. “I asked her to move in with me,” he said, just as Sansa’s father walked in.

Ned blanched, his eyes darting from Petyr, to Sansa, to her mother. “What?”

“And I said yes,” Sansa said, her voice sounding rather small, even to her own ears.

Cat’s lips twitched, as if it were an effort to keep them from sloping downwards. Ned had no such restraint. “Don’t you think it’s a bit soon?”

Before either Sansa or Petyr could speak, Olenna cut in, “Oh, please. They’ve been together for months now, and known each other even longer. People have gotten  **_married_ ** in far less time.”

The hint of marriage made Ned’s face turn slightly purple, but Olenna continued, “And time doesn’t matter, anyway. Some people are together for years before making any commitment, and then it fizzles out. Others are together for a month before they take the plunge, then stay together until death parts them at a ripe old age. When it’s right, it’s right, and time has little to do with any of it.”

Someone coughed, drawing Sansa’s gaze away from Olenna. Edmure was standing just inside the kitchen, looking uncomfortable, Roslin by his side, eyes downturned. Cat’s mouth — which had drawn taut — slackened briefly, then turned upwards in a strained smile. “You’ve said goodbye to the others, then?”

Edmure nodded. “Brynden’s still talking with Robb and Jeyne, but Roslin’s got to get back. Her shift with our father starts in a few minutes.”

Cat’s eyes darted to Sansa entreatingly. It was an effort to restrain the grimace that sought to twist her lips. “Goodbye, then. It was nice seeing a lot of the family again,” she said, carefully choosing her words. Meaning it hadn’t been nice seeing some of them. Lysa, in particular, but Sansa was also still pretty mad at Edmure. If he hadn’t been so stupid as to tell Lysa they were visiting….

Something flickered in Petyr’s eyes — he’d caught her meaning, though Edmure looked relieved. Which, Sansa supposed, was a good thing. She’d tried to be polite, as she nearly always did, but she couldn’t help letting some of her anger though, even if it went well over Edmure’s head. 

“It certainly was,” Edmure agreed. He offered his sister a smile. “Have a safe flight back, alright? And don’t be such a stranger. Though it tired him out, Roslin says it did father good to see everyone.”

“Indeed it did,” Brynden said, slipping into the kitchen behind his nephew. Winking at Sansa and nodding at Petyr, he said, “In particular he said something late last night about a chat with a pretty, young redhead and her charming beau. Have to think he meant you two.”

“What, and I couldn’t be the charming beau?” Ned asked, cracking a grin. “He might have meant Cat.”

Cat laughed. “I don’t think young describes me much anymore. As for your being charming, that’s debatable.” 

“It’s debatable that he was talking about Petyr, too,” Olenna quipped. 

“I can be charming,” Petyr protested.

Sansa smiled at him wickedly. “Can you? I haven’t seen it.”

Petyr put a hand to his chest, affecting a wounded look. “I expect it from Olenna, but you? I’m hurt, sweetling.”

“You’ll get over it,” she teased. “My charming beau.” She paused, lips shifting in thought. “Or should I say bae?”

“Neither,” he said dryly. 

Still grinning, she set down a squirming Lady and hugged Brynden goodbye, promising to stop by again soon (he gave her his number, with assurances that she could call anytime). And then the Tullys were gone, and the house was in bedlam as everyone finished cleaning up and packing for the trip back into the city. Before Sansa knew it, she and everyone else were bundled up and back in the limo, jammed in with all the luggage and newly unwrapped presents that wouldn’t fit in the trunk. Lady had a blast throughout the entire journey, scrabbling across laps to lick faces, tail thumping, and bugging Left and Right in their respective carriers, but she was the only one.

Her parents obviously hadn’t forgotten about Sansa moving in with Petyr, nor their displeasure with it. Both were quieter than usual, and kept exchanging looks full of meaning. Neither, however, dared to broach the subject again. Not with Olenna there. Indeed, every time either looked about to open their mouths, Olenna’s sharp gaze snapped right to them, quelling their words.

The tension was palpable enough that even Rickon and Arya caught onto it, though both were thankfully smart enough, like the rest of the family, not to ask about it. They reached the city with little incident, most of them paying the movie playing on the built in television screen (Christmas Vacation) far more attention than was really warranted, considering everyone in Sansa’s family had seen the flick a thousand times, and none of the Tyrells were all that enamored with the likes of Chevy Chase. 

Their first stop was Varys’ apartment, where everyone agreeably pitched in to help unload everything in a timely manner, tendering their goodbyes before piling in the limo once more to head for Petyr’s apartment. Sansa reluctantly left Lady at Varys’, in the care of Olenna, as she and Petyr would be gone all day sightseeing with the family, and therefore couldn’t see to the pup’s needs. It was difficult, but she was comforted by the fact that Petyr promised her they’d swing back by Varys’ to get Lady before they went home for the night.

Another hour passed in which they unloaded the limo and put away all of the perishables, and then they set out for Ripley’s Believe it or Not Museum (as per Arya’s request), among other attractions. Her parents began to visibly relax again, as the day passed, giving Sansa some hope that they might have at least forgotten her future living arrangements for the moment, perhaps not to recall them until they were well on their way back at home and only accessible via a phone call or text. Either that or they’d gotten used to the idea, but she’d bet that was only wishful thinking.

When they finally came back to Petyr’s apartment, Sansa was thoroughly exhausted, though in truth she’d been exhausted since she’d woken up. Everything that had happened in these last few days had taken a toll on her, and as much as she loved her family, a part of her was very, very grateful that they would be going back home in the morning.

Sure, she had the stress of moving to look forward to, not to mention Petyr searching for a new job, but both seemed almost inconsequential, in terms of stress, compared to what she and Petyr had gone through this Christmas. And she was looking forward to moving, in fact. Very much so. 

The only thing that dampened her thrill of his having asked her to move in with him was that it wasn’t exactly the question she’d been dying to hear from his lips. Still, living together meant another step closer to that all important question, and so she was excited about it all the same.

Curled up on the couch under a blanket with Lady, her siblings squabbling around her over what movie to watch, Sansa smiled, gaze far away as she thought about all the perks that came with living together, and wondered if perhaps they would do any redecorating. Not that she didn’t like the decor — it was very tasteful. Just…. Not quite as homey as she would like. Not as much warmth. 

Though that certainly had changed some, in the time since she’d first set foot in this apartment. For one thing, there were now plenty of framed photographs around, of her and Petyr, and of the rest of the Tyrells too. And they’d taken quite a few pictures during the last few days, out with her family, and even of everyone together, that would make wonderful additions to the photos already displayed.

The couch cushion under her feet shifted and dipped, and Sansa looked up to see her mother perched on its edge. Startled, Sansa suddenly realized that she was the only one left in the living room, her brothers and sister (and Jeyne) somehow disappearing without her noticing. A great feat indeed, considering how loud they all were.

“The pizza’s here,” her mother said, correctly interpreting her expression. “They’re eating at the dining room table.”

Sansa stroked Lady’s soft fur. “I thought we were eating in here.”

“I decided against it. You know how messy things can get with our family. And with so much white fabric around, and pizza sauce involved, I made an executive decision. They can watch the movie after.” 

“Good idea,” Sansa agreed. 

Cat smoothed her palms along her thighs. “Since I have you alone, I thought maybe we could talk. I doubt we’ll get such a chance again. Not before we leave.”

Sansa stiffened. She wished Petyr were here. He’d slipped into his home office while they waited for the pizza, presumably to tend to work matters he’d neglected over the last few days. He might not have been a LASE employee any longer, but he still owned and ran The Mockingbird franchise, and dabbled in the stock market, too. “What about?” she asked, though she knew the answer.

Cat’s lips pursed. “I….” She trailed off, then sighed. “It’s taken some getting used to, the idea of you and Petyr together, as I’m sure you know.” That was putting it mildly. Sansa had to restrain a snort. “But we’re trying, we really are.” Cat sighed again. “I just…. Moving in together is a very big step. Are you sure you’re ready?”

Sansa wanted to point out that she’d lived with Joffrey, once, but didn’t. She wasn’t sure that would exactly help her case, considering how badly that had ended. But this was different. Everything was different, with Petyr. What she’d felt for Joffrey, what she’d had with him, it didn’t even compare. It was almost mind boggling now, to think she’d once been about to marry Joffrey, considering what she know knew of life and love. “Yes,” she said simply, and gently lifted Lady from her lap and stood, signaling the end of the conversation. 

Her mother’s mouth tightened, but she stood too. “You better hurry and get some,” Sansa told her. “They’ve probably eaten most of it already.”

Cat nodded and turned to go, pausing after a few steps. “You coming?”

“Yes. I just want to tell Petyr it’s here, first.” Cradling the pup against her breast, Sansa left without another word, heading for Petyr’s home office.

Wordlessly, she slipped inside, carefully closing the door behind her. He turned in his chair at the noise, immediately rising to his feet at the expression on her face. “What’s the matter?”

Sansa shook her head, throat tight. “I don’t think they’re ever going to be okay with it — me and you.”

Petyr palmed her cheek. “We haven’t an easy road of it, that’s for sure. But it’s a road worth taking, no?”

She nodded, smiling against his lips as he leaned in and kissed her. Whatever their road, no matter how many bumps and twists and turns, it was worth taking, with him. She’d never been more sure of anything in her life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked the new chapter! I've finally been writing for this fic again, and it feels pretty good :)
> 
> However -there will be no set schedule this time. Operating without a deadline has helped me gain interest back in this fic, so I am just going to write and update on the Saturday after I get a chapter finished. This may mean quicker updates or slower ones (verses my previous once every 2 weeks schedule), but I'll try to keep you abreast of my progress via my tumblr (@petyrbaealish).
> 
> Also, for those looking forward to the proposal, there's like one more chapter before it, from what I've got planned. So you shouldn't have to wait too much longer <333


	61. Chapter 61

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Petyr and Sansa clean out his office at LASE. Sansa moves into Petyr’s apartment. They decide to have a New Year’s Eve/housewarming party.
> 
> featuring an edit by quoyan_XI (@quoyan11 on tumblr)

                                   

The Starks left early Wednesday morning, and Petyr wasn’t sorry to see them go. Even Sansa seemed relieved (though of course he knew she’d miss them), both of them breathing a bit easier once goodbyes had been said and they’d left the airport behind. It had been a long couple of days, and Petyr was starting to think even his bout with Legionnaires’ Disease had been easier.

At least he hadn’t had the Starks breathing down his neck constantly then. And as for whether he’d rather be sick again — even bedridden in the hospital — over seeing Lysa, well that was no contest. He’d choose the former.

But then, any sane person would probably say the same.

Petyr had the limo driver bring them back to his place first before letting him off the clock, promising to settle the bill later. However, rather than head back upstairs, he caught Sansa’s hand as she turned towards the elevator. “I need to head out for a bit.”

The corners of her mouth sloped downwards. “What? Why?”

“LASE will be resuming normal work hours tomorrow. I should clean out my office before then.”

Sansa grimaced, then nodded and started to walk, pulling him towards his car. “Okay. I’ll come with.”

“You don’t have to,” he began, then shook his head, choosing not to finish that thought. What did it matter if she came? No one would be there, save for perhaps Tywin. And while it was true that Tywin was a force all on his own, Petyr wasn’t as worried about meeting him as he was about Cersei or Joffrey, at least where Sansa was concerned. If Tywin were indeed working, he’d probably simply ignore them.

And anyway, Petyr doubted he’d be able to talk Sansa out of coming even if he wanted to. She could be quite stubborn, when she felt like it.

The Red Keep — the unofficial name of the historic building housing LASE’s headquarters — was empty when they arrived, the lights darkened, doors locked. Petyr used the key he’d been issued for all of the late hours he’d worked for the company over the years and slipped inside, disabling the security system before any alarms summoned unwanted company. Not bothering with the lights, he navigated the halls towards his office by second nature, Sansa at his side.

“It looks so different,” Sansa commented, her gaze trailing over the shadows playing along the walls, the office doors shut, windows opaque.

Petyr glanced at her, surprised. “You’ve been here?”

“Once or twice. With Joffrey.”

Ah.

“He wanted to show off his new office, when Tywin promoted him,” Sansa continued. “Among other things.” She shook her head, heaving a sigh. “He wasn’t too happy when I refused. Said it didn’t matter if we were caught, that it was his family’s company. I told him he could wank off on his own, since it didn’t ever seem to matter if I got off, so what did he really need me for?”

Petyr stifled a laugh as he unlocked his office. “So that’s what he does in that office of his. And here I’d always thought he was playing video games and sleeping off hangovers.”

“That too.”

It didn’t take long to pack up his office. He’d already had Olyvar drop by for some of the larger items, namely his desk chair and a few paintings. The desk, computer, and the extraneous office furniture were all company issued. And Petyr had long ago gone paperless, along with the entire company, where files were concerned. Had in fact spearheaded the company’s conversion. Going digital made it all the easier for him to ferret out his employer’s secrets, many of which he used to advantage financially, unbeknownst to them.

Only his desk needed clearing out, the contents of several locked and unlocked drawers swept into a box. Normally he’d take more care, but he wasn’t in the mood to be his normal meticulous self today. The Starks and the Tullys had worn him thin.

Really, all he wanted to do was go home, perhaps soak in the tub with Sansa naked and in his lap.

“You know, I wouldn’t object if you wanted to give this place a proper send off,” Sansa mused as he finished emptying the last of his desk drawers.

Petyr set the box — now full — on his desk and turned to look at her, arching one brow. “Oh?”

She licked her lips. “No one’s here. And even if there were anyone “ — she shrugged — “I’m not sure I’d care.” Each word spoken brought her a step closer, until her breath mingled with his.

He caught her waist and pulled her even closer, angling his head so that his breath ghosted along the shell of her ear. “Is that so?” he murmured, relishing the way she shivered against him, her body already growing pliant in his grasp.

“Mmm,” she hummed, the sound dipping into a moan as he nipped at her earlobe, then traced the curve of her neck with his teeth.

Fingers wove into his hair as he found the pulse point at the base of her neck, her nails scraping against his scalp. The light traces of pain elicited a low growl from his throat, the vibrations stealing another moan from her lips in the shape of his name. Gods, he loved it when she said his name.

When she **_moaned_ ** his name.

Her fingers tightened in his hair, tugging, urging him to stop, and he released her neck only to have the question on his lips swallowed by her own lips searing against his. Groaning, he pressed her into the desk, his hands finding the hem of her skirt, bunching the fabric up around her waist. And gods, she was completely bare, beneath that skirt, and already so wet for him….

Sansa shimmied onto the desk, her legs spreading wide as he traced her slit with his fingers, toying with her clit before slipping a finger inside her waiting heat. And then another. Deftly, he began to stroke that spot within her, his tongue tangling with hers, until he couldn’t wait another moment — he had to taste her.

Snagging her bottom lip between his teeth, he cast her a wicked look, then dropped to his knees and buried his face between her thighs until she trembled and cried out, his name echoing around the still, empty office building.

And when he stood, her hands were immediately at his belt, releasing his cock, and he took her there, while she was splayed across the desk he would never use again — and admittedly this was a far better use for it, in his opinion. The pace was brutal and glorious and he let out every bit of tension he’d held over these last few days, fucking his lovely, flame haired sweetling.

When they were done, the box he’d packed upended on the floor, the walls and the air full of their pants and moans and cries of exaltation, he was certain he couldn’t have planned a better send off if he’d tried.

 

* * *

 

The next day was reserved for moving Sansa out of Varys’ and into his place, and thankfully they had enough help from his family (and their respective significant others, namely Myrcella, Renly, and Luwin, who Olenna still claimed was little more than a dear friend, though none of them bought that particular lie and he often wondered why she kept up such pretense) that even with the fact that Sansa hadn’t packed anything yet (she hadn’t had any time to, considering he’d just asked her two days ago) they still managed to transfer all of her belongings over before evening had fully settled. Of course, she still had to **_un_ ** pack, but really, they could take their time with that, so long as they moved all of the boxes out of rooms customarily visited by guests.

For he had another little surprise for his sweetling, one that necessitated inviting his family right back over for New Year’s Eve.

“A New Year’s Eve party?” Sansa sounded skeptical, and he couldn’t blame her. After all, she was still getting settled and unpacking, and her family had only just left and now he wanted to invite more people into his apartment? Into **_their_ ** apartment? Had he lost his mind?

Probably.

“Slash housewarming party.” He opened a suitcase and found it stuffed full to the brim with undergarments, both lacy and of the cotton variety. Picking out a silky blue negligee that perfectly matched her eyes, he raised his eyebrows at her. “How come I haven’t seen this before?”

“Because you usually have me naked before I can think to put anything like that on,” she said, snatching the garment away from him.

“You could put it on now,” he offered.

“Yeah? And how long would I really end up wearing it?”

Petyr shrugged. “We could find out.”

Sansa’s lips pursed in thought, then she handed it back to him. “Maybe later. If you really want to have a party, we’ve got work to do.”

Indeed. More than she knew, in fact. Thankfully he’d have help. He’d already told his family of his plan (after swearing them to secrecy on pain of having secrets of their own revealed that they’d rather keep hidden. He liked to keep his bases covered, even with people he trusted. Mostly), and recruited them and Renly and Myrcella for help decorating the roof to his specifications. Really, he ought to have waited to ask Sansa to move in with him, so he could better sneak around to get things done without raising suspicion, but then he wouldn’t have been able to throw a New Year’s party without raising suspicion. At least calling it a housewarming party gave him a more plausible excuse to have one, when he wasn’t much for throwing parties at his home in the first place.

He didn’t really know why he’d decided to ask her on New Year’s Eve, right around the countdown to midnight. It just seemed… right. He couldn’t explain it. And after the Christmas they’d had, he wanted to end this year on a high note, and begin the next similarly so. Her family’s opinions be damned. She wanted him to ask her, he knew she did. And her opinion, her decision, was the only one that counted.

“Nothing big though,” he said, carefully putting away the contents of the suitcase in the drawers he’d freed for her in anticipation of the move, leaving the nighties where they lay for a moment — those would need hangers. “Just my family. And Renly, Myrcella, and maybe Luwin, if Olenna wants to invite him.”

“Not Tyrion and Shae?” Sansa was now arranging her shoes on the shoe rack he’d bought for her the other day. He was lucky he had an especially large walk in closet — she had quite the selection.

“If you want,” he relented. “But I’d thought to keep things small. I don’t really want a big, raucous party. Do you?”

She shook her head. “No, not really. Perhaps just family is best.” She paused, a shoe dangling from her hand as she mulled over her words. “You going to miss seeing him?”

“Oh, I’ll still see him. He’s always stopping by The Mockingbird to see Shae.” Petyr watched as Lady, her interest piqued by the shoe still dangling from Sansa’s hand, sneaked over and sniffed what probably looked like an excellent chew toy. Sansa, with her eyes on him, didn’t notice.

“Maybe I’ll come down there with you sometime,” she mused. “It’d be nice to see them again. And I’ve never been there, you know.”

He did. Joffrey had never let her come with him, and The Mockingbird really wasn’t her style, anyway. Not to mention, as Joffrey had oft frequented the club, Sansa hadn’t wanted to risk seeing him, even to see where Petyr worked in his spare time. But now… now Petyr had left LASE. And so he was officially free to ban Joffrey from his club, free from consequences. Had in fact done so already.

As if she were reading his mind, or rather on a similar track to his own, Sansa said, “Are you going to work there more often, now that you’ve quit LASE?”

He’d thought about it. But the club really wasn’t something he wanted to devote his full attention to. It had always just been a side enterprise for him. “I don’t think so.”

“Then what?” She wasn’t pressuring him, merely curious.

He didn’t have an answer, but thankfully Lady spared him of one, finally gaining the courage to swipe the shoe from Sansa’s hand. The pup fled with her prize, prompting Sansa to scramble to her feet and race after her, giggling even as she scolded the puppy.

 

* * *

 

Today was the day. Everything was set, both for the party and the most important event of the night — and of his life (thus far, anyway). And still, with all of his planning, with all of the times he’d checked and rechecked every aspect of the proposal he’d decided on, he was nervous. Actually nervous.

Who was this man, staring at him from the mirror, wearing his clothes?

He didn’t get nervous. Not anymore, anyway. Hadn’t since that night that had earned him the scar slashed across his chest.

And yet it was an undeniable fact. Despite all evidence that she’d say yes, he still had some lingering self doubt. A cruel companion, self doubt.

His only saving grace was that not a flicker of that nervousness could be seen in his countenance. No, he still looked as cool and composed as ever. In appearance, at least, he was golden.

Inside, he was a wreck.

Petyr left the mirror behind and went into the kitchen, where Sansa was busying herself with getting the trays of chilled hors d'oeuvres out of the refrigerator. They’d decided to have tonight’s party catered, since they’d had so little time to prepare and so much to do. All they had to do was slide the hot appetizers into the oven as needed — and plate them, of course.

“You’re wearing that white turtleneck sweater again,” she said, smiling as he leaned in and kissed her.

“You said you liked it when I wore it on Christmas,” he said, peeling back the saran wrap on a tray of crab puffs.

“I did,” she agreed. “Still do.”

“You should go get dressed. I’ll take care of this.” The oven beeped, signaling that it had finished preheating, and Petyr slid the crab puffs inside.

“I’ll have you know I was planning on wearing this,” Sansa deadpanned.

He ran his eyes down her body, taking in his wrinkled dress shirt, those long, toned legs. “My apologies, sweetling. You look perfect, as always.”

She laughed and he stole another kiss before giving her pert little ass a squeeze and a pat, prompting a squeal and a half hearted objection before she left to get ready. While she was gone, he finished getting the food ready and finalizing the preparations for the proposal, working until the very last minute when the first of their guests finally arrived. With Sansa still absent, Lady likely following her around (she trailed Sansa everywhere, when she could. It was actually pretty cute), Petyr answered the door alone, finding Varys and Olenna waiting outside.

“He looks nervous, doesn’t he,” Olenna said to Varys, seizing Petyr up. Perhaps he hadn’t been hiding it as well as he thought. Or perhaps his mother could just read him better than most.

Maybe she just wanted to tease him, as she liked to do.

“He does,” Varys agreed. He would. The prick.

“I’ll thank you both to keep your voices down,” Petyr hissed, stepping back to let the inside.

“Whatever for? I’m not allowed to comment on my son’s appearance?”

“You know well and good what you’re doing.” Gods. He usually wasn’t so easily ruffled.

Olenna took him by the chin. “Calm down. You’ve nothing to worry over.” She patted his cheek affectionately, then leaned in and whispered, “It’s a yes. I’ll guarantee it.”

Varys looked about ready to add some contradictory remark, just to goad Petyr like he always did, but Olenna shot him a quelling look and he pressed his lips in a firm line, the skin whitening from his restraint. Petyr was thankful for it — normally he gave as good as he got, but tonight he was in no state to do so. Instead he helped his mother with her coat, leaving Varys to his own devices as he escorted Olenna to the living room. She was managing a lot better lately, he noticed, not relying on her cane as much. Clearly her physical therapy sessions with Sansa were helping.

He was just offering to get Olenna a drink when Sansa drifted into the room, Lady hot on her heels, and he couldn’t help but stare. Sansa grinned at him and gave a little twirl, the deep violet skirt of her dress fanning around her thighs. “You like it? It’s new.”

Petyr swallowed, but before he could say anything Varys, who he hadn’t even noticed come in, said, “Speechless is usually a good indicator. I think he might have swallowed his tongue.”

“You look beautiful,” Petyr managed, sparing a glare for his brother before smiling at Sansa. “Truly.” She really did. Though with such a short skirt, and those cut outs at the shoulders, she might be a bit cold when they went up to the roof. No matter. He’d be the gentleman he wasn’t with anyone but her, and offer his coat.

Lady gave a little bark, as if unhappy she weren’t the center of attention and Sansa laughed and made to stoop to pet her, before stopping and pulling a frown. “Later, okay? I just want to spend a few more minutes pet hair free,” she told the dog, as if Lady understood even a single word uttered. Although the pup did cock her head to the side as if in understanding.

The doorbell rang again, signaling the arrival of more of his family, and soon the party was in full swing, everyone talking and laughing and eating. Sansa was in her element, the perfect party host, and he was by her side, trying to keep himself in the present, rather than in the countdown to midnight. It was an effort to keep his eyes off of her, off of her smile, the sheen of her hair, those eyes….

It was an effort to focus on anything, on **_anyone_ ** else.

When the time finally came, after an interminable wait, he actually thanked the gods, though he’d never done so before, to his recollection. Never in such an earnest manner, anyway. “How about we all go up to the roof,” he suggested, hoping that everyone would remember the plan, that they would agree and yet delay coming up until after the stroke of midnight. “The fireworks from Times Square should be visible from here.”

“Ooh, I love that idea,” said Margaery, reaching for Myrcella’s hand excitedly.

“Sounds good,” Sansa agreed, slipping her own hand into his.

“You two head on up,” said Olenna. “I just need to visit the powder room real quick.”

Sansa’s gaze fell on Lady. She turned to Petyr. “Should we bring her up, or?”

“I’ll do it,” Margaery said quickly. “Your dress is still remarkably hair free and mine, well, isn’t. Just give me a moment. I want to check my makeup. Gotta look my very best for those New Year’s kiss photos.” Margaery winked at Myrcella, then trailed towards the hallway, Myrcella in her wake, both bypassing the bathroom Olenna had already slipped into.

“We’ll wait for Olenna,” said Loras. “Help her up those stairs. They won’t be easy for her.” Renly nodded, as Varys made for the bar, looking to refill his glass. “But you to go on ahead. We’ll be right behind you.”

Sansa nodded, though a hint of suspicion played about those bright eyes. His family wasn’t exactly being all that subtle, so that didn’t really surprise him. No matter. Sansa would find out soon enough.

Petyr squeezed her hand and led her out the door, his heart a drum in his ears. Was this the end? Would she say no?

Or was tonight only the beginning?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The proposal is coming! It's in the next chapter, and I'm still writing it :)


	62. Chapter 62

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The long awaited proposal <333

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahh, hopefully this isn’t too cheesy XD

They stepped out onto the roof and Sansa lost her breath, eyes alight with the twinkle of lights all around her and up above, the night velvety black but for those little pinpricks of light. She was standing in a sea of stars, swallowed up inside them, and Petyr’s hand was her only anchor.

Was the roof always like this? She didn’t know.

But then….

There were rose petals beneath her feet, stirring slightly in the light wind. And everywhere she looked, among those shining lights, red roses arranged in crystal vases, the light refracting along each carved facet. The very air shimmered, and her heart, her heart beat a rapid tattoo that called out to Petyr, that craved for answers. That craved for a question -  **_the_ ** question.

Another question shone in her eyes as she turned to him, and she thought she saw an answer, a  **_question_ ** , in his, the one she’d been waiting for for what felt like forever. Her mouth parted, but words evaded her. She could only stare at him, trembling — not from the cold, which barely seemed to touch her despite her lack of a coat, but from anticipation.

Petyr offered her a smile, and it was so tentative, so unlike him, that she knew. She knew what this was, her certainty beyond any doubt. Reaching out, he took her hands in his, thumbs smoothing across her skin. When he spoke, his voice was lower than usual — huskier. “Do you remember, my love, how Olenna told you on Christmas Eve that you’d brought the music back into my life? She wasn’t simply speaking metaphorically. Until this past summer, I hadn’t touched a piano in decades, nor had I taken any enjoyment at all, in music. What had once been a great source of comfort to me had ceased to be so, years ago.”

His thumbs stilled, fingers tightening around hers, and he glanced up, his gaze finding hers. Hope glimmered there. “But from the very moment I met you, all of that changed. I saw you on the elevator and Heart and Soul was playing, and I just knew. You’ve made my life a song, sweetling. You’ve become my very heart and soul.”

Raising their joined hands to his lips, he kissed the back of each of her hands, then led her over to one of the rose topped tables, reaching behind a vase to produce a small, wooden box. Wordlessly, he held it out to her, and she took it, hands shaking as she examined it.

There were birds taking flight carved into its sides. Mockingbirds and nightingales, she realized, recognizing the tiny details painstakingly etched into the wood, paint highlighting their distinctive features. Each were exact replicas of the bird ornaments she and Petyr owned, the ones that still hung on their Christmas tree in their apartment below. She traced the carvings in wonder, then eased the lid open, her eyes lighting up as a familiar tune began to play.

It was a music box.

Inside, upon a deep red, velvet lining, two figures danced, cheek to cheek. A girl with red hair and a red dress slit up the thigh. And man in a suit with dark hair and grey temples. They turned in a lazy circle, swaying to an instrumental version of Heart and Soul — the tempo slow and sweet. She watched them dance until the last notes of the song were carried away into the night, until they stopped revolving and she spied something around their tiny feet.

Gently, Petyr lifted the ring free, then sank to one knee before her. Sansa put the music box back on the table, afraid she’d drop it for how badly her hands were shaking. She stared down at him, hardly believing this was real.

“Will you marry me, my sweetling, my love, my heart and soul?”

“Yes.” The answer had always been yes, from that very first day. “Yes,” she said again, loving the way his eyes lit up as she said it. “Yes.” She couldn’t stop saying it as he rose to his feet again, slipping the ring on her finger, the word only silenced as he kissed her and fireworks bloomed overhead.

And though it was for the new year, it felt like the celebration was all for them.

They were still kissing when the door opened, revealing Olenna and all of the rest of the guests at their little party. Olenna had a bowl full of rose petals, which she promptly tossed over them as Margaery and Loras snapped pictures (Lady bundled in Myrcella’s arms), and then hugs were all around, the air full of congratulations and ‘Happy New Year’s.’ Champagne was passed around, and they all danced up on the roof until it got cold enough that they couldn’t stand it (which wasn’t very long at all. None of them except for Varys had thought to wear coats, and even Petyr’s suit jacket didn’t help keep Sansa warm for long, considering how short the skirt of her dress was), and brought the party back downstairs.

Sansa couldn’t stop smiling, and neither could Petyr, who never strayed far from her side. Margaery and Myrcella and Renly and Loras had all fawned over her ring, and Varys had taken credit for helping pick it out (“If I recall, you pointed me to a gaudy monstrosity more like to be of Cersei Lannister’s taste,” Petyr had said dryly) and they had all watched the proposal again (Petyr had apparently provided a live feed for those downstairs, on Olenna’s insistence), Sansa blushing wildly and Petyr taking ribbing from Varys (“I didn’t know you had a heart. Or a soul, for that matter.”), to which he’d shrugged and said “I do now.”

At half past midnight her phone had rung, her mother’s face appearing on the screen as Here Comes the Sun by the Beatles wove through the talk and laughter of their little party. Sansa frowned down at her phone, her elation dipping slightly in the face of having to inform her family — her parents, in particular — about her engagement. Should she answer?

“It won’t get any easier later,” Petyr said gently, his arm tightening around her shoulders as he pressed a kiss to her forehead.

“No, it won’t,” she agreed. “But do I really want to spoil this moment with their reaction?”

Petyr didn’t patronize her by suggesting that their reaction might in fact be in their favor, for which she was grateful. They both knew it wouldn’t be. It might not incite anger or an uproar (oh, she really hoped they were past that), but she didn’t think the news would bring warm smiles and congratulations either. “It’s up to you if you want to tell them tonight, my love. But I think she’ll keep calling until you answer.”

Sansa nodded, resigned, even as the call went to voicemail. Cat would definitely call again. As to whether she’d tell her family the news or not when she answered, she hadn’t decided yet. Perhaps she’d play it by ear. 

The phone began to ring again, and Petyr called for quiet as Sansa answered, Margaery and Myrcella repressing their giggles with hands clamped to their mouths — they’d both indulged in more than a little champagne. Before Sansa could say anything, a chorus of “Happy New Year” screeched through her phone’s speaker, prompting her to hold the phone well away from her ear.

“Happy New Year,” Sansa said, the voices of those around her joining hers.

“Oh!” said Cat. “Who’s that with you? Oh, you know what? Let me see. We could do a video call.”

“Tell them to Skype us from their computer and cast it to the TV,” shouted Arya. “That way it’s almost like we’re there.”

Sansa saw Petyr roll his eyes. Just what they needed. Her family, back in their apartment. She grinned suddenly.  _ Their _ apartment.

That still took some getting used to.

And they were going to get married. Her grin spread wider. Suddenly, she didn’t care what her family’s reaction would be. She had to tell them.  **_Wanted_ ** to tell them.

After all, with or without their approval, she’d be marrying Petyr.

“Okay,” she said, nodding to Petyr. He reached for the remote and flicked the television on, then got up to get her laptop. “Just a minute. We’re getting it set up.”

Before long, her entire family — and Jeyne — was peering out at them from the television screen, waving and falling all over each other as they jockeyed for the best seats on the couch. Sansa and Petyr and the others on her end waved back, and they all repeated “Happy New Year” several times again, like those three words were the only ones that mattered, tonight.

They weren’t.

Sansa cleared her throat. “I have news,” she said, raising her voice to be heard over everyone.

“We know it’s New Year, stupid,” Arya said, swigging right from a bottle of sparkling grape juice. Rickon snorted and tried to take the bottle from her, then fell off the couch as Arya shoved him away.

Cat shot Arya a look. “If you two spill that, so help me….”

“Yeah, I know, you’ll make us clean it up.”

“What’s the news?” Bran asked, talking over Arya. He had always been the most level headed of her younger siblings. 

Sansa shared a glance with Petyr, then flicked her gaze at the Tyrells and their significant others, who quickly got the point and made themselves scarce, Margaery and Myrcella stealing Lady on their way out. Taking a deep, steadying breath, Sansa held out her hand for the camera, the ring unmistakable on her finger.

Her parents stared. Rickon fell off the couch again. Finally, Bran spoke up again. “Congratulations!” There was warmth in his voice, genuine warmth.

A good sign.

Ned shook his head, blinking as if to clear it. “That’s a ring.”

Sansa nodded. “Yes.”

“No, it’s a tugboat,” said Arya, earning a scowl from Cat.

“When did this happen?” Cat asked, once she’d finished glaring at Arya.

“Not even an hour ago.” Sansa looked away from the computer, away from her father, who didn’t look angry, just confused, dumbstruck, away from Arya who was snickering and swigging sparkling grape juice, away from Robb and Jeyne who smiled at her with goofy grins that told her they’d been drinking, away from her mother who didn’t look anywhere near any of those emotions and certainly not happy. 

But  **_she_ ** was happy, and that’s all that mattered. Sansa grinned at Petyr, who smiled right back at her. “I said yes, obviously.”

“Obviously.” Arya lifted her bottle. “Cheers, then. When’s the wedding? I don’t have to be a bridesmaid, do I?”

“You, a bridesmaid? In a dress?” Rickon dissolved into laughter at the very thought of it.

“That’s a ring,” her father said again.

Oh dear.

Perhaps telling them after a heavy night of drinking hadn’t been the best idea. Maybe they wouldn’t even remember her telling them. Well, the ones who’d been drinking, anyway.

Cat patted her husband’s hand. “Yes. Looks like we’ve got another engagement on our hands. Should be fun, planning two weddings.” She smiled at that, and Sansa’s heart lightened. “Though I suppose you haven’t thought that far ahead yet. It’s a lot of work, but worth it, if it’s right.” Cat didn’t sound chiding at that last part, more… hopeful. Hopeful that Sansa was making the right decision, that she’d be happy. “Congratulations, sunshine.”

As if permission had been given, the rest of Sansa’s family followed suit, save for her father, who looked about ready to say “That’s a ring” again. 

The call ended soon after that, and the party not long after, and Sansa began to clean up the leftover food while Petyr took Lady out for a quick potty break, her mind humming with the night’s events. The news of their engagement had been met with less enthusiasm than she would have liked, but it had gone better than she'd expected. No anger, no trying to talk her out of it. Only her father acting out of sorts, but then he wasn’t the best at reining in his emotions and he  **_had_ ** been drinking and well, confusion was better than anger, as far as she was concerned. Given his history with Petyr, and her mother’s history with him, Sansa though he’d taken it fairly well. 

And her mother’s reaction had shown real promise. Not all out support, but she seemed to have given up on trying to caution Sansa or talk her out of being with Petyr, instead giving Sansa the benefit of the doubt that she knew what she was doing. And it sounded like Cat was hoping that they’d be happy together, despite any reservations she still had. 

Really, Sansa thought that was about as good as it was going to get, and she’d take it. 

When the food was put away, she slipped into the bedroom and changed into the blue negligee that Petyr had found the other day while they were unpacking her things. She had only bought it about a month ago, knowing it matched her eyes, and how much he’d like her in it even if she only wore it for the space of a few seconds before it was on the floor and she was naked beneath him. Tonight seemed like a good night to finally wear it.

She was standing before the mirror, admiring the ring on her hand and the way it glittered in the mirror, reflecting the candles she’d lit only moments before, when he came up behind her, his hands resting with such familiarity on her hips, his stubbled cheek brushing hers. Leaning back against his chest, she arched her neck as he tugged on her earlobe with his teeth, his hands tightening possessively at her hips, declaring her his as much as the ring he’d slipped on her finger earlier that night. He traced her body, caressing every curve, his mouth hot against her skin, tasting, touching  until she was wearing nothing but the ring he had given her, the gem gleaming in the darkness, shining even brighter than the flickering candlelight.

Indeed, the negligee hadn’t lasted long. She’d known it wouldn’t. But that hardly mattered as he moved inside of her, moved with her as they chased mutual release. Her nails raked along his back, dug into the swell of his backside, gripped his arm. Blood pounded along every vein, her body alive with the rhythm they created together. When she broke she took him with her, and he kissed every inch of her as the tremors slowly subsided.

This was it. This would be her forever. This would be her song. 

Their song.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So what did you think? Too cheesy? Hopefully it was good - been planning that proposal for awhile now lol. Glad you finally get to read it :).
> 
> Love to all of my readers, new and old, and as always, comments and kudos are always very much appreciated and make this writer happy beyond belief <333
> 
> Find me on tumblr as @petyrbaealish


	63. Chapter 63

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Petyr and Sansa bask in their engagement. Petyr considers his career options during dinner with the family.

The next several days were lost in a heady sort of bliss. Petyr no longer had work to fill his hours, and Olenna had given Sansa a few paid days off from her duties as physical therapist (and housekeeper) as an engagement gift. So they had nothing at all to do but spend every moment together — most of which were spent worshipping one another. If they had been fairly insatiable before they’d gotten engaged, it was nothing to way they acted now.

Indeed, they could have given rabbits a run for their money during that sweet reprieve from all obligations but to each other.

When they finally came up for air, after Sansa’s first day back at work, Petyr stopped by Varys’ at five for dinner with her and his family. He’d thought about tagging along with her for the whole day, since he didn’t have anything else pressing to do and he was still debating about what he was going to do about a career now that he’d quite LASE, but she’d shot down that idea immediately.

“If you come I won’t get anything done,” she objected.

“I know I don’t know anything about physical therapy, but I  **_can_ ** help you with the cleaning,” he said, affecting a wounded tone and look.

Sansa shook her head, a half smile shaping her lips. “You know what I mean. If you come, we’ll likely end up getting caught in a very compromising position somewhere, and I doubt I could look either of them in the eye ever again if that happened.”

“I’ll behave,” he promised, not really meaning it but reluctant to part from her, especially when he wasn’t sure what he was going to do with the free time. The Mockingbird didn’t need his attention, nor did his investments. Though, he supposed he could work on wedding plans. At least on getting some ideas. Sansa would want to decide on everything for sure together, but he could still do some research.

“Uh huh.” She kissed him goodbye. “But maybe I wouldn’t.”

She’d left him with that searing thought, and he thought maybe it  **_was_ ** better that he didn’t come over until dinner. His promises weren’t any good when it came to keeping his hands off of her when she so clearly wanted him too.

He met Varys at the door with his head full of wedding plans and must have still had the same goofy lovestruck look on his face that he had worn for the past few days (seriously, every time he looked at himself in the mirror, he was smiling. It was almost disconcerting, that he couldn’t seem to control it, and yet almost even more disconcerting that he didn’t even care), as he was greeted immediately with an eyeroll. “Oh good, you’re here. I was just hoping to see some nauseating displays of affection, and it looks like my wish was granted. Lucky me.”

Petyr treated Varys to a smirk as he stepped inside. “I do like to be accommodating.”

A bark sounded from somewhere out of sight, and then Lady barrelled out of the kitchen, earning a hiss from Left as she bounded up to Petyr, tail thumping. Stretching up on her hind legs, she immediately got white fur on his pressed slacks as she begged for a pet, to get up, for any kind of attention from him. He indulged her with a quick pat on the head that didn’t seem to satisfy her at all, but then Sansa popped her head out of the kitchen and the pup zeroed in on her instead, tripping over her paws as she scrambled over to a more willing provider of affection.

Sansa laughed and scooped Lady up into her arms, planting a kiss on the puppy’s head as she wandered over to Petyr. “Have a good day?”

He stole a kiss from her, receiving a lick from Lady in the process. Varys made himself scarce, grumbling about where Petyr could shove his “accommodating nature.” “I did. You’re already cooking then? Whatever it is, it smells good.”

Sansa nodded, setting Lady back down and patting her on the rump before heading back to the kitchen. “Olenna decided she was in the mood for lasagna, so we had to get started earlier or risking eating too late.”

“It’s only five. Six, or even seven isn’t too late,” he said, following her over to the stove, where a pot of tomato sauce was simmering.

“It is if you’re my age and prone to heartburn.” Olenna waved a spatula at him. “You want your dear old mother to have heartburn?”

Petyr kissed her cheek as he passed her on the way to the cupboard. “Certainly not. I’ll help you get it into the oven as quickly as I can.” He grabbed a glass and reached for the fridge. “In the meantime, maybe an antacid? You can take a preventative one, you know.”

“There’s a good boy.” Olenna patted him on the cheek fondly as he handed her a glass of her favored cranberry juice. “You’ll go get me one?”

“Of course.”

On his way out of the kitchen, Sansa put her hands on her hips, looking both amused and exasperated. “You know, I told you to take one earlier. You said you didn’t want to.”

Olenna shrugged. “That was earlier. Now I can make him get me one.”

Petyr laughed. “That’s all I’m good for, hmm?”

“That and finishing the lasagna.” Olenna flashed him a cheeky grin. “I’m missing my stories.”

 

* * *

 

The lasagna wasn’t into the oven until after Olenna’s soap opera was finished, thankfully, as he really hadn’t been looking forward to listening to the overacted dramatics and overly complicated storylines that she only loved because she loved predicting them and making fun of them. When they finally sat down to dinner, he wondered briefly if he should have taken an antacid as well (and felt fairly depressed that he even had to wonder about it, before remembering that he was marrying a twenty-three year old and age didn’t matter anyway), but soon forgot about it as the conversation turned to wedding talk and he got the chance to talk about what he’d been researching all day. Sansa was thrilled to hear about it, Varys much less so, and after Varys made several attempts to derail the conversation they finally gave in (well, Petyr would have kept talking about wedding plans all night, enjoying it all the more for how much it was annoying Varys, but Sansa took pity on his brother and changed the subject herself).

“You know, it’s funny but even though I’ve had the last few days off, I swear that hip of yours is better than ever.”

“Well, I do my exercises whether I am with you or not. Just like you told me to,” Olenna said, serving herself some more lasagna.

“Do you?” Sansa looked skeptical.

Olenna laughed. “I suppose you’ll never know for sure, will you?”

“You should do them every day,” Sansa protested, reaching for her wine glass.

“My hip is getting better, isn’t it?” Olenna looked smug as she said this. “I’d say that’s proof enough.”

“Either that or she made a deal with the devil,” Varys said dryly. “Frankly, I’m more inclined to believe  **_that_ ** .”

So was Petyr. Olenna hated her exercises. And he wouldn’t put it past her to charm the devil into helping her with her hip, just so she could get out of them. 

“Either way, she’s doing well enough that she might not need that cane much longer.” Sansa paused, fingering the stem of her wine glass. “Or me.”

Petyr frowned. He hadn’t considered that. Perhaps soon they’d both be out of their jobs, completely free. He wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not. Certainly he wouldn’t be able to stand not having a primary occupation for long. As for Sansa, he wouldn’t care if he simply supported her and she did her own thing, but he wasn’t sure she’d want that. Likely, she’d get bored. 

There’d be a lot of free time for them to fuck though. Which was a  **_very_ ** appealing thought.

“Ah, you’ll be glad to be rid of me as a patient,” Olenna told her with a wry grin. 

Sansa smiled back, but it looked brittle, so Petyr quickly said, “And it wouldn’t be goodbye anyway. You’re marrying into the family, remember?”

Her eyes brightened at that. “True.” Then she frowned, her focus drifting back to Olenna. “I just don’t know what I’ll do for a job once you’re better.”

“It’s a big city,” said Varys. “You’re bound to find something.”

“And anyway, you can deal with that when the time comes.” Olenna patted her hand reassuringly. “It’s probably awhile yet.” She pouted and winked. “Unfortunately.”

Sansa laughed. “For your sake I hope it’s sooner rather than later.”

Varys cleared his throat as he reached for more garlic bread. “Speaking of being unemployed, I’m surprised you still fit that description, dear brother.”

“I still own and run The Mockingbird,” Petyr countered.

Varys waved a hand dismissively. “Olyvar mainly runs it these days, from what I hear. It takes up very little of your time. Which leads me to wonder what, exactly, fills your days.”

Petyr smirked at him and Sansa’s cheeks colored. “Do you really want me to answer that?”

“Your mother’s present,” Olenna reminded him, not sounding at all bothered by his insinuation.

Varys just rolled his eyes. “You’re avoiding the question.”

“I wasn’t aware you’d asked one.”

“He didn’t,” Olenna offered, scooping the last of her lasagna from her plate. “You changed the sauce, didn’t you?” she asked Petyr. “It tastes a bit different from how I left it.”

Petyr sipped his wine. “You don’t like it?”

She smiled, then reached for a third helping that belied her small size. “It’s better.”

“You’re going to get reflux,” said Varys, eyeing their mother as she dug in.

“Helpful of you to tell me that now,” Olenna said mildly, prompting Varys to raise his eyebrows.

“She already took an antacid,” Sansa said, shaking her head even as the corners of her mouth lifted.

Varys huffed. “Excuse me for trying to help.”

“You’re excused,” said Olenna cheerfully, finishing her third helping, her eyes darting to the pan of lasagna as if she were contemplating a fourth. “It really is good, you know. Perhaps you should cook for a living.” 

That last bit had been directed at Petyr. His brows drew together. “Cook? Professionally?” He hadn’t worked in a restaurant since college.

“Why not? You’re good enough. You’ve worked in restaurants before.” Olenna looked longingly at the lasagna, still hot in the pan, then turned back to him, eyes expectant.

Petyr looked at Sansa, who seemed intrigued by the idea. In truth, he was too. He’d always loved cooking. Even more so after he’d wound up married to Lysa, and gone to work at a restaurant to help support them and the baby she’d never born. Working,  **_cooking_ ** had been an escape then, from an otherwise miserable existence. He’d quickly moved over from waiter to food prep (after helping out in a pinch, one night), and up from there. He liked the meld of chaos and order in the kitchens, the fast pace, the way no hour was ever the same as the last. 

He didn’t, however, much like building up a sweat in the kitchen, from the heat of the grill and the ovens and the press of people.

And as for salary, well unless he worked in a prominent Michelin starred restaurant as a proper chef, it wasn’t going to be much of anything. A pittance compared to what he’d made at LASE. He didn’t like that. He didn’t need the money, of course, but working for so little still didn’t sit right with him. His ambition wouldn’t let him settle for a menial job with a menial salary. And without the proper training, he wasn’t likely to get hired anywhere reputable, no matter how good he was.

Sansa was watching him, her gaze pensive. She looked as though she knew exactly what was on his mind, his reservations. Indeed, when she spoke up, it was clear that she’d come to know him so well, over these last months. “What about opening your own restaurant? You’ve worked in several over the years, as everything from waiter to bartender, manager, and chef, so you know all the ins and outs of running one. And you started The Mockingbird from nothing. A restaurant wouldn’t be that different.”

Olenna gave in and got herself a fourth helping of lasagna. “You’ve already got one future patron.”

Petyr considered the possibility. The restaurant business was fickle, he knew. But he’d never been one to back down from a challenge. He could build one up from scratch, just as he’d done The Mockingbird, controlling every little detail to create something unparalleled by anything else. And he’d be both owner and head chef, perhaps. Maybe even develop and serve his own recipes — he’d always liked to experiment in the kitchen.

He’d wanted to do something different, and perhaps this was it. Something he could actually take enjoyment in, rather that just working for the paycheck. 

His eyes met Sansa’s, and he knew she knew exactly what was going through his mind. She smiled and he smiled back, wondering what he’d ever done to deserve her and that beautiful smile and that beautiful mind, both bewitching him in equal measure. Either this was prove of the existence of the gods or proof against it, either way he didn’t care, so long as he still got her in the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So what did you think? Did you expect Petyr’s career change?
> 
> Hope you liked the chapter! This is a little gift from me since I won't be updating anything tomorrow because it's my birthday. Those looking forward to an update for TWWP will get one next weekend on the 15th unless otherwise specified on my blog (@petyrbaealish on tumblr). 
> 
> <3333333


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